


but if we go, we go together

by solfell



Series: we begin in the dark. [the maallinen-briars] [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Blood and Violence, Family Dynamics, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Other, Past Character Death, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Teenagers, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 81
Words: 50,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22822201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solfell/pseuds/solfell
Summary: Kishore has a large family; everything she does, she does for them.Stories about the Maallinen-Briar family, recently recovered from the Cult of the Prismatic Queen, and new residents of Westruun.
Relationships: Original Character(s) & Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s)/Original Non-Binary Character(s), Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: we begin in the dark. [the maallinen-briars] [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639141
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	1. Worship (Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elspeth: I saw a building so beautiful I started crying?

Elspeth stands outside Bahamut’s Rest. She stares up at the temple, trying to convince herself to go up the stairs and enter the building. The temple is beautiful, almost too beautiful beneath the noontide sun. The alabaster glows. The silver inlaid into the stonework glimmers and shines. Elspeth is nearly blinded, and that’s such a novel experience after having lived her whole life in the dark.

The sun and sky still dazzle Elspeth, but Bahamut’s Rest is something else entirely. Her breath catches in her throat. She feels pressure behind her eyes, that going-to-cry feeling, and she wills the feeling away. She’s done a lot of stupid things in public, but she isn’t going to start crying in the middle of the Temple Terrace. Not today.

She’s on the job, anyway. There’s a thick envelop from far away tucked under her arm, addressed to the Keeper of the Temple.

Elspeth allows herself one more moment to bask in the temple’s glow, and then trots up the stairs. The open doors welcome her inside.


	2. Prayer (Kishore & Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elspeth begins to turn to the Platinum Dragon; Kishore watches

Elspeth breezes in long after dark. Kishore doesn’t move from her place at the table, and watches as Elspeth waltzes into the kitchen to scrounge around for something to eat.

“There’s a plate on the counter for you,” Kishore says.

Elspeth startles and lets out a quiet sound. “Oh my gods, Ki, don’t scare me like that!” She spins on her heel, hands pressed against her heart. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

Amusement prickles inside her, but Kishore neither laughs nor smiles. She rises and goes to light the lantern at the center of the table. Warm, orange light fills the area. “Where have you been?” 

Elspeth shrugs and rolls her eyes. She fetches the plate and sits in the chair opposite from Kishore. “I was out. With some friends. Don’t worry, I wasn’t doing anything nefarious.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” Kishore admits. “Your brother was worried.”

“Em is always worried,” Elspeth scoffs. She takes a bite of food, and keeps talking. “You’re always worried, too. How exhausting!”

Kishore watches her for a moment. Elspeth continues eating, but then stops. She bites at her lips, and sneaks a look up at Kishore.

“I really was safe,” she says.

“I believe you.”

Elspeth’s face goes through a series of expressions before she settles onto something anxious and hesitant. “I was at Bahamut’s Rest. In the temple district.”

“I’m familiar with it,” Kishore says. She’s never set foot inside the building, but she’s seen its gleaming white walls several times.

There’s a moment of quiet. Elspeth shovels more food into her mouth. When she swallows, she shifts in her chair, tucking her feet up so she can sit cross-legged. “I was praying.”

Kishore blinks, and gestures for her to continue.

Elspeth fidgets with her fork. “Praying to Tiamat was different, you know? It was… Mother wanted us to follow what everyone else was doing, and so we went through the motions and the rituals. I think sometimes Emery really did pray, like the others. Maybe I did, too, just a few times. But it was different. It felt different. It was more pleading than praying.” The words tumble out of her, and she cuts herself off.

Kishore doesn’t speak–Elspeth just needs a moment to collect herself again.

Elspeth looks more like her father than her mother. Emery takes after Thea so much that sometimes it hurts to look at him, because Kishore misses Thea’s steady presence and Emery is breakable and volatile in ways Thea never has been. Still, right now, Kishore sees the resemblance between Elspeth and her mother. 

They look similar when thinking, eyes down-turned and head tilted to the side.

“It felt good,” she says. “But the acolytes at the temple don’t know who I am or where I’m from, so I don’t know if I’m allowed to go back. I don’t know if I was allowed to be there in the first place.”

“What did you learn about the Platinum Dragon while you were in his temple?” Kishore asks.

“I already knew that he and Tiamat don’t get along, but that’s old news,” she replies. “One of the acolytes said that Bahamut is a protector. He is a shield between the helpless and those who want to hurt them. Justice and mercy are both important in his eyes. I felt safe in his temple, Kishore–more safe than I’ve ever felt before. I didn’t want to leave.”

Kishore frowns. “Did they make you leave?”

“No, they said I could stay as long as I wanted,” Elspeth says and lets out a watery laugh. Her eyes gleam in the low light. 

“You plan on returning.”

Elspeth nods. “Yes.” She looks up at Kishore, a begging look on her face. “Is that okay?”

Kishore takes a deep breath and says, “You don’t need anyone’s permission to do what makes you happy.” The words are true, and she knows they’re true. Still, she has a hard time believing them. She can’t live them yet, but perhaps Elspeth can.

Elspeth lunges across the table and gives Kishore a quick, sharp hug. “Thank you.” She slumps back in her seat and her grin is bright. 


	3. Color (Emery & Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elspeth dyes her hair a lot

Elspeth’s hair is a different color again. Yesterday, it was green. Today, she’s dyed it purple. Emery wants to smile at the change, but that would just encourage her. There are a few rules to having Elspeth as a sister. Rule number one is Do Not Encourage Her Antics.

(Emery breaks that rule a lot.)


	4. Kitchen (Kishore & Meera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was, uh, Kishore and Meera in the Kitchen with a Knife

When Meera is in the house, Kishore is not allowed in the kitchen. Sometimes she can get away with cooking something simple if Meera’s asleep, but Kishore usually doesn’t risk it.

It’s ridiculous, because Kishore is just as clueless about cooking as the rest of her siblings. Yet, Meera’s designated herself mistress of the kitchen and no one else is allowed in her domain. However, Kishore always gets the brunt of Meera’s ire.

Case in point:

Meera catches Kishore in the kitchen, swears loudly, and Kishore is distracted enough to flinch and drop her knife. For some reason she tries to catch it, and it nicks her forearm, along the delicate veins in her wrist. 

Meera swears again–there are a few elven words in there, and Kishore is a bit impressed–and presses a clean cloth to the cut.

Kishore asks, “Are you alright?”

“You just got stabbed and you want to know if I’m okay?” Meera throws her arms into the air and groans. 

Kishore keeps steady pressure on her arm. “Yes, I am. Are you?”

“I’ve seen worse things happen to you,” Meera grumbles, and goes to find a new knife. “Why are you here?”

Knowing Meera, it’s more of a ‘why aren’t you cavorting around the countryside like you do’ question than it is a ‘why are you in your own house’ question, but Kishore answers the second one.

“Ameya wanted a sandwich.”

“She can make her own sandwich.”

Kishore frowns. “She’s eight.”

“Yeah, that’s sandwich-making age. Ask anyone,” Meera says, and matches Kishore’s frown. 

Kishore just makes a mental note to never enter the kitchen if Meera’s within twenty feet of the house. She wonders if she’s going to have another scar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm kind of laughing at this one now, since it's 100% no longer the case. after kishore made that one bomb-ass cake, meera's been like "you are one of the approved kitchen users"


	5. Bloom (Kishore, Neelam & Ameya)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore, Neelam, and Ameya cuddle-nap on a rainy day

Kishore curls one of her arms beneath her pillow and wills her body to relax. Sleeping in a bed is still something she’s getting used to–there are times when she wishes to be back on the road, if only so she can sleep on the ground.

Rain patters down on the roof, and wraps the room in a soft, constant sound.

The bed isn’t big enough for Kishore, but somehow both Neelam and Ameya have crammed themselves in with her. Ameya has her head tucked beneath Kishore’s chin; Neelam is pressed against Kishore’s back. Her sister and her daughter are asleep, lulled by the rain.

Kishore’s fingers thread through Ameya’s hair. 

Earlier, Neelam said she made friends with one of the druids that lives outside the city. She seemed almost afraid to tell Kishore, like Kishore would forbid her from having friends. Three months ago, Kishore might have done just that, but three months is both a very short and an inexplicably long time. (They met inside the city, which is all Kishore really needed to hear. If Neelam left Westruun, then there would be a problem.)

Neelam–so often dim-eyed and silent–smiled when she talked about her new friend. She pressed a small, yellow flower into Kishore’s hand, said it was a gift from her friend, said it’s a flower that only blooms in the spring, but look, Kishore, it’s autumn and she made it bloom for me.

Neelam shifts against Kishore’s back, and lets out a sound that might be a word. Kishore hums, as if responding. Neelam quiets and sinks her weight more heavily against Kishore.

The rain continues. Downstairs, she can hear Rahul and Emery talking, excited about something. Meera’s snappish tone cuts in and there’s a pause; laughter follows. Emery snorts in that way he hates, but Kishore thinks is endearing. 

Kishore presses a kiss to the crown of Ameya’s hair, and closes her eyes. She doesn’t sleep. She listens to the rain and the voices below. 


	6. Tranquil (Kishore & Neelam)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinking tea late at night with Neelam

Kishore stays up, waiting for Neelam to return home. Everyone else has already gone to bed. Her journal is open, and she jots down notes on how to improve Ameya’s reading and writing. Maybe she should construct an entire curriculum, but doesn’t know where to start. Her mother taught her informally, and Kishore doesn’t know if the same thing will work for Ameya, at least not here.

Part of her wishes she was like Meera or Rahul–able to set down roots and stay inside the city. She wants to be with Ameya every day, not just once or twice a month. But Kishore’s skills are limited and she can’t imagine staying in Westruun for too long. Conflict nestles deep in her heart, and she doesn’t know how to address it yet.

Neelam returns, and doesn’t bother being quiet about it. The door slams shut behind her. She kicks her boots off and throws her cloak over the back of a chair. She meets Kishore’s eyes.

“Let me reheat the kettle,” Kishore says in lieu of a greeting.

“I can do it,” Neelam replies, voice without inflection. Before heading into the kitchen, she places a blue flower on the table, near Kishore’s elbow.

Kishore follows her. “Your druid friend was with you,” she says. The flower on the table looks too vibrant for autumn.

Neelam nods.

“What is her name?” Kishore didn’t think to ask before. 

“Gwen,” she says. 

“What did you see at the observatory?”

Neelam shrugs. She adds some wood to the hearth and hangs the kettle over the growing flames. “Stars. There was a meteor shower. It was short.” A small smile creeps onto her face, and she looks down at her feet. “It was pretty amazing.”

Kishore has only heard about meteor showers, but she’s grateful that her sister has seen one. She rests her hand on Neelam’s shoulder; Neelam presses into the contact, and then just sort of slides into Kishore’s arms. 

They wait for the kettle to boil, leaning against one another in a dark kitchen. Once the tea is ready, they sit at the table and drink in silence. Neelam traces the petals of the blue flower with her thumb, and her lips twitch into a here-and-gone-again smile.


	7. Archery (Emery & Neelam)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emery goes on a walk/run, and Neelam asks an important question

Despite having both his mother and Kishore as examples, Emery doesn’t actually know how throw a decent punch. Not for lack of trying, of course, but he’s just never had the knack for hand-to-hand combat. **  
**

So, when the drunkard’s fist comes flying towards him, Emery can’t do much but dodge out of the way. He’s not in uniform, otherwise he’d try to play that card. It probably wouldn’t do much good here anyway, and the only other people around are the drunkard’s equally drunk friends. The guy shouts something vaguely threatening, and grabs at Emery’s shirt, but he slips free.

Emery takes off running. The drunkards don’t follow, but they likely can’t do much besides stay upright. And throw sloppy punches, apparently. Emery doesn’t slow down for a good long while, regardless, and ducks into an alleyway to catch his breath.

The last ten minutes have not been his finest. He’s willing to admit that.

“‘Go for a walk, Em,’” he says, mocking Elspeth’s voice. “‘It’ll be good for you. Clear your head.’ This is the last time I listen to her.” He peeks his head out of the alley to make sure no one’s after him.

“Should I be running, too?”

Emery startles so badly he nearly falls over. He uses his momentum to settle into a half-crouched stance, ready to leap away.

Neelam is just standing there on the street; he’s not sure how he missed her. She’s giving him a mostly blank stare, with one eyebrow raised in question. She resembles her sisters right now; Kishore and Meera are masters at looking unimpressed.

Emery straightens and relaxes back against the alley wall.

He hasn’t seen Neelam yet today; she’s been out since before he got home. That’s not unusual, though, since they keep such different hours. She seems fine, looks like she always does, except her curly hair is tied back into a messy bun.

“Why aren’t you at home?” he asks, trying not to seem so breathless. “It’s late.”

Neelam’s face twitches, a crack of amusement shining through. “Why were you running?” she counters, and glances past him.

Emery only answers because she won’t tell anyone else. “I almost got into a fight. Guy was drunk and I accidentally bumped into him.”

Neelam frowns.

“Then he said something rude. I insulted him back,” Emery admits. “Maybe not the best choice, but the prick deserved it.”

“Guards aren’t supposed to fight with citizens.” Her tone isn’t disapproving, just quizzical.

“I’m not on duty, but no. You’re right.” If anyone recognizes and reports him, he’ll be well fucked. There’s some wiggle room for the older guards, the ones who have been working for years, but he’s at the very bottom of the hierarchy. If he’s not living, breathing, and bleeding the rules, then he’s not worth having around.

“Why are you out?” he asks.

She shrugs. “The moons are out,” she says, as if that answer makes complete sense. Then again, this is Neelam, so it does.

He won’t say it, but he doesn’t like how often Neelam wanders at night. No one’s really sure where she goes besides the Reserve and the observatory. Westruun isn’t always safe, and Neelam can’t punch any better than Emery can.

He pushes away from the wall. “You ready to head back?” 

Neelam nods and starts walking. She’s not that much taller than him, so matching her stride is easy enough. They walk in silence for a few minutes before Neelam speaks.

“Can you teach me how to use a bow?” she asks.

The question catches him off-guard. He glances up at her. She’s not looking at him. Sometimes she’s weird about eye contact. She bites at her lip, a nervous habit she’s had since they were little kids. 

“Um, sure? Why?”

“Kishore is going to teach Ameya how to fight. Maybe I should know, too,” she explains.

“Why don’t you– I don’t mind, but you’re not asking Kishore?”

She shakes her head. Emery waits, but she doesn’t elaborate.

He lets out a soft sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, we can do that. Just bows, or do you want swords, too? I’m not as good with those.”

“Bows first,” she says, firm.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll ask my superiors if we can use a corner of the training grounds. Hopefully that’ll be fine. We can figure out a schedule after.”

“Okay,” she says, nodding. Her eyes flicker to him, then down to the ground. “Thanks.”

Emery smiles, mostly amused and a little bit fond. “No problem."


	8. Dusk (Emery & Neelam; AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the twilight of their lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i consider this super duper non-canon bc there are now several other elves that emery will be able to hang out with when everyone else is dead. talsin and theren, y'all better stay alive.

Neelam is nearly six hundred years old when she begins to fade. Nature’s strength favors her; she’s weathered the centuries with remarkable grace.

Out everyone who escaped from the Prismatic Queen, Neelam and Emery are the only ones left. They’re old, and have been together for the last century or so. They knew this would happen; they’ve known for a long time. But facing the reality of the situation is still hard. Time has taught them a lot. It will never teach enough for this.

The only real question left was who would outlast the other.

It was gradual, but over the last few months, Neelam’s begun to slow down. Joints go stiff, bones ache, vision blurs. She’s tired, and never stops being tired. Each morning is a different, more difficult struggle. They’ve seen it happen to others, so it’s easy enough to recognize age when it catches up to her.

These days, Emery spends a lot of time reflecting on the past. Nostalgia is just another ache. 

He’s known Neelam since she was six years old. He was nine at the time, and blinded with admiration for her eldest sister. It wasn’t until they were free that he truly came to know her. 

Once, he thought Elspeth was the only person he would ever be in true alignment with, the only person who could balance him perfectly. She was his foil, his other half, his better self. He’s gotten used to not having her around, but a familiarity with loss only make it easier to bear. Pain persists, regardless. 

He and Neelam have their own brand of balance. He doesn’t know who he would be without her. 

Admittedly, after Elspeth died, he didn’t see Neelam for a couple decades. The same thing happened when Kishore passed; they went on solitary paths, but eventually fell back in together. It wasn’t a conscious choice. It was about survival and understanding and the fact that they’re the only ones who _know_.

They’re the ones who know what it was like to live without sun, without rain, without freedom. They, who were once crushed beneath Tiamat’s claw. They, who fought hard for every scrap of individuality and sense of self-worth that they now own. They, who didn’t choose to be family, but wouldn’t choose otherwise.

He’s sad that no one else is here to see them at the end. He’s sad that his mother and sisters and brothers aren’t here to see how far they’ve come, and how much they’ve grown together.

For all their shared hurts, they are better and stronger people than they once were. Emery doesn’t break at a moment’s notice; Neelam smiles freely.

They’re at the table in the house they share with Rahul’s children’s children’s children. The afternoon sun glances in through the window, warming their wizened hands. Outside there are sounds of laughter. A child shrieks in joy, another shouts. Emery hopes they’ve left Neelam’s flowers alone. She won’t mind either way, but still. They should respect the time she takes to make the grounds look beautiful.

Neelam sighs, and her breath rattles. She’s had a persistent cough the last couple weeks. “I’m sorry,” she tells him, even though it’s unnecessary. 

He focuses on the cup of tea in his hands. “Why?”

“You have more time. I don’t. I wanted to be with you until the end,” she explains.

Emery looks up at her. Her dark eyes are unflinching in their honesty. Her hair is a halo of curly grey; shafts of sunlight filter through a few locks, turning the grey to burnished gold.

“I didn’t think I’d have anyone this long,” he tells her. It was strange when they realized that Neelam was aging at a glacial pace. Ameya threw a fit out of anger and sadness, but eventually Elspeth talked her down. Everyone decided it was a good thing, even though it hurt in different ways. “And I’m not going to be alive that much longer, really.” At least in the grand scheme of things.

“A century,” she reminds him, “is not short.”

“I won’t be alone.”

A shadow passes over her face. Despite the wrinkles and wear of time, he sees an echo of the sullen child she used to be. She says, “It isn’t the same.”

“That’s fine.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” It’s a lie. They both know it’s a lie. Emery isn’t going to be fine. He’ll muddle through for as long as he can, but he’s sure he won’t be long for this world once she passes. 

He’s had a handful of lovers over the years, and a husband for a blissful few decades. Those relationships are still important to him. Everyone he’s loved has left an irrevocable mark on his soul. But Neelam… she’s different. He doesn’t love her like he loves Elspeth or his husband. She’s not the same as Hope or Kishore or anyone else.

She’s _Neelam_.

They’re very different people, but over the years, she’s become part of his very identity. She is a thread in the fabric of his being. He doesn’t know of any word in any language that describes that perfectly.

Neelam takes another breath, and falls into a coughing fit. Emery rest his hand on her shoulder until she recovers. He presses his teacup into her hands. She quirks a smile and drinks.

“Thank you,” she sighs. There’s a slight tremor in her hands; the tea wobbles in the cup but doesn’t spill.

Despite the fact that she’s shrunk a few inches, she still towers over him. In a weird way, he’s grateful for that. He leans into her. She leans back.

“What are you going to do?” he asks, voice soft. The question’s been on the tip of his tongue for weeks, but now he has the strength to ask.

“Remember Gwen?”

He nods. Gwen was Neelam’s first friend, the one who taught her the ways of the druids. He thought Gwen was a little simple, but she was a sweet girl who was good to Neelam.

“She said the eldest of her people would wander dangerous places, and wait for death to find them,” Neelam says. “They ventured alone.” She take another sip. Her face is dark again. “I will admit don’t want to be alone.”

“I’ll go with you,” he says without thinking. A streak of impulsivity ruled his youth, and apparently it still has sway now. He can’t take back his words, even if he wanted to. 

This is the answer. He won’t have to fake being alright once she’s dead if he dies with her. The simplicity of it warms him from the inside out. 

Neelam doesn’t respond. She stares into the cup. “You have more time. I won’t ask you to come with me.”

“You don’t have to ask.”

She swallows hard, her throat clicks. “Thank you.”

“What else would I do?”

“Try to keep going.”

Emery scoffs.

Neelam smiles, bittersweet. “Yes, I know. You’re not one for half measures, and you always speak true.”

“When were you going to tell everyone else?”

“After dinner. I planned to leave at dawn.”

Emery nods. “I have time to write a few letters, then.”

“Yes.”

They don’t say much else the rest of the afternoon. The sun slides into eventide. Like bookends, they sit side-by-side, ready for what comes next.


	9. Walk (Kishore & Venu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore and her mother go on a walk

She kneels and slips shoes onto her mothers feet. Venu stares into the middle distance, a serene look on her face, and doesn’t notice Kishore’s actions. 

“Mother, we’re going for a walk,” Kishore says, hands resting on Venu’s knees.

Venu lazily sweeps the room with her gaze before she looks at Kishore. The smile that appears on her face is calm, confused, and sincere. She reaches out a hand and lifts Kishore’s chin. “You look like my daughter,” she says.

Kishore has been told this before. “I know,” she replies. She helps her mother to her feet, even though she doesn’t quite need it yet. Venu’s memories and thoughts are frail and faded, but her body is still strong. Perhaps not as strong as Kishore remembers it once being, but a walk about town is easy and good.

So, they amble from one end of Westruun to the other, weaving a meandering path through the city. Kishore points out the places she knows, tells what stories she can. 

Sometimes, Kishore’s words fail her—Venu was the storyteller in the family and Kishore can only make pale attempts at emulating her. She tries, though, and Venu’s gauzy smile doesn’t fall even when Kishore goes quiet. 


	10. Trim (Kishore, Meera & Ameya)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore can add her proficiency bonus to giving haircuts; Meera takes advantage of this

It’s not long after they’ve settled in Westruun that Meera asks, “Will you cut my hair?”

Kishore has no clue how to cut hair. She’s familiar with a few blades. She knows how to rend flesh from bone and how to split skin in ways that leave scars, but cutting hair? She’s baffled by the question.

Meera stares at Kishore. Her jaw is set, and there’s something almost like fear in her expression. Her hair is just as long as Kishore’s; the dark tresses frame her face. It’s still strange, seeing her like this. By the light of day. 

“Please,” Meera says between clenched teeth, and she’s never said that before.

“How short?” Kishore asks.

Short like some of the city’s guards. Short enough to nearly see her scalp. Short enough that no one can grab it.

When Kishore finishes, the floor at their feet is covered in a mass of dark hair. It’s not perfect, not by a long shot. Kishore’s hands are awkward and unsure in this, but it’s the best she can do. 

Meera reaches up, touches the bristles on her head. She lets out a shuddering breath; her shoulders curve inwards and Kishore thinks she might be crying. She circles around, and sees the truth. Meera is smiling. She’s beaming, and relief radiates off of her. 

“Thank you,” she says, turning that smile in Kishore’s direction. 

Now, in the early morning light, Meera sits on a chair in the middle of the front room. Kishore uses scissors and a razor to trim the few inches of hair on Meera’s head. Practice has yielded decent results–there aren’t any weird bald patches or areas of unevenness on Meera’s head anymore.

Her thumb brushes one of Meera’s earrings. “Rahul made these?” she asks.

Meera nods. 

Ameya tramples down the stairs. “I want a haircut too!” she cries once she sees Kishore and Meera.

“Short like mine?” Meera wonders. 

Ameya makes a face. “Noooo. This much.” She holds up her thumb and forefinger, indicating maybe an inch. 

Kishore senses that Meera is rolling her eyes. “Really? That’s it?” she asks.

“I like my braid,” Ameya says with steely certainty. “But I also want a haircut!”

“I’ll trim your hair once I’m finished with Meera,” Kishore says. 

“Yes!” Ameya crows. 

Meera’s shoulders shake with a silent laugh.


	11. Food (Kishore & Emery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore goes shopping, Emery puts his foot in his mouth a bit, but it’s okay; Kishore is aware of her own problems

The sun is setting and evening’s chill begins to set in. Most people in the streets are headed home, steps quick and focused. Kishore walks at a more sedate pace. People flow past, and she watches them, something almost like curiosity bubbling in the back of her head. 

“Kishore!” A familiar voice calls out from behind her.

She turns to see Emery jogging up the street. He’s still in his uniform, but his shield is strapped to his back. He looks tired and a little disheveled. Just off duty, then. 

“Emery,” she greets him with a small smile. She rests her hand on his shoulder for a moment. They fall into step together.

Emery takes the basket Kishore has on her arm. Meera sent her out earlier, claiming there was no food in the house. Which was a lie, but Kishore understands the need to keep the cupboards full. She was about to offer to go out before Meera commanded it.

“Do we need more food?” Emery asks, peeking into the basket. It’s mostly bread, oats, salted meats and dried fruit. There’s also a small jar of honey that Kishore bought on an impulse. “I swear, Elspeth went shopping just the other day,” Emery continues.

Kishore shrugs. “I had extra coin. It is better to have too much than too little.”

A shadow passes over his expression. “I’m sorry,” he says, quick. “I keep forgetting, which is stupid of me. It was different for you than it was for us.”

He’s talking about before, when they lived in caves and were barred from the sun. Elspeth and Emery, being Thea’s children, never went hungry. They suffered, of course they did, but not in the same ways Kishore and her family suffered.

Elspeth and Emery don’t look at food the way Kishore does. Kishore has a dysfunctional relationship with food and hunger. She’s aware of this, and after struggling from one meal to the next for so long, she knows this problem will take time to resolve. Perhaps it will never be resolved. 

Perhaps she’ll always have to adhere to a strict eating schedule, because she doesn’t know when she’s actually hungry, and will forget to eat if focused on something else. Perhaps she’ll always wonder, in the back of her head, if there is enough food in the house. Perhaps she’ll never eat that last bite on her plate, and instead foist it onto Ameya or Rahul or Neelam. 

The rest of her family have similar problems, but Kishore hopes she’s taken the brunt of things. 

“It was different, yes,” Kishore agrees. “You don’t need to apologize.” She reaches out to brush Emery’s hair out of his face.

He makes a face at her and shakes his head, just to mess up his hair again. Kishore turns away to hide her smile.


	12. Candy (Meera & Ameya)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meera comes home to find that she has a new roommate: 50gp worth of candy

Meera leaves work in a good mood. Today was a good day—she’s made a lot of progress on her projects and the customers that came into the shop were courteous and kind. There’s a slight spring in her step, though most people wouldn’t notice. The autumnal air smells clean and the sun warms her skin; it’s nice being able to get home before dark.

Her good humor evaporates soon after she arrives home. She tries to open the front door and meets resistance. She shouts, “Ameya?” Throwing a cursory glance around to make sure she isn’t being watched, she throws her shoulder into the door. It opens a little bit, and there’s a scraping, thudding sound on the other side.

“Ameya, open the door!” Meera rams the door a second time.

“Mom?” Meera calls, though she won’t get a response. She’s stupid for even trying, and shoves against the door with all the force of her irritation. This time, she’s able to open it enough to create a gap that she can squeeze through.

What she sees once inside isn’t what she expected. Admittedly, she wasn’t sure what she expected. There’s at least fifteen crates in the entryway. A few look as if they were stacked precariously, then tumbled into the door. Meera lifts them back into place. 

“Ameya!” she shouts again, and pushes past the crates. Something hard crunches beneath her boot, and she lifts her foot to find… a pulverized candy. It’s wrapper crinkles when her foot moves.

There’s a trail of candy that starts here and leads up the stairs. Meera follows it while gathering the pieces into her apron as she goes. Irritation makes her movements sharp and jittery.

The trail ends in the room where Ameya sleeps. Meera could say it’s Kishore’s room, but these days it seems like Kishore is gone more often than she’s here. Regardless, it doesn’t feel like any particular room belongs to anyone, anyway. Her family doesn’t excel at personal space.

Ameya is sitting on the floor, flanked by two crates, tops cracked open. There’s a couple more boxes behind her, shoved against the wall. How she managed to get everything in the house and up the stairs is a mystery that Meera can’t contemplate right now.

“What are you doing?” Meera demands, hands propped on her hips.

“There was money and I bought candy!” Ameya cries around a mouthful of sweets. It’s then that Meera comprehends the sheer number of empty wrappers surrounding her niece. 

Anger begins to build in her chest. “What money?”

“The money in the flower pot. I found it,” she says.

It’s Neelam’s flower pot, but she’s not the sort of horde money in strange places. “Ameya,” Meera says, at a loss to say anything else. “Whose money did you take?”

“I told you! I found it,” she replies.

So, Meera’s already at a disadvantage when it comes to dealing with the world, but she’s never felt more out of her depth than she does right now. For a few moments, all she can do is watch Ameya. “How?”

“What?”

“How did you buy all this?”

“There was a shop. They were really nice to me!” Ameya beams, like kindness is the only thing it takes to make things better. “I gave them the money and they gave me candy. That’s how it works. Don’t you know that?” She’s giving Meera a judgmental look right now, which the last thing Meera wants or needs.

“Of course I know that,” she snaps. “You have to bring it back. We can’t keep all this.”

“What? No!” Ameya cries and gets up on her knees. “You can’t do that. It’s mine. It was my money!”

“No, it wasn’t!”

“I found it!”

Through gritted teeth, Meera says, “Just because you find something doesn’t mean it’s yours.”

Ameya doesn’t reply. She sits back down and frowns at the floor. 

“You can’t eat all this,” Meera says in a softer voice.

“Yes, I can.”

Meera rubs her fingers over her forehead. There’s a headache percolating in the front of her brain. “We’ll talk about this when your mother gets back. Let’s pack everything back up until then, okay?”

Ameya looks like she’s about to object, but then asks, “When is she gonna be back?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Soon, maybe.” Soon, hopefully, she thinks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to hope, who left 50gp in a flowerpot in kishore's house


	13. Awake (Emery & Meera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teen Ex-Cultist Supports Fellow Ex-Cultist, More At 10

The early morning sun fills the room with yellow light. Emery emerges from his reverie. He opens his eyes only to squeeze them shut again. Damn. It’s going to be one of those days, isn’t it? The last few hours were peaceful and even though his body is rested, his mind feels wrong. He is not himself today. Instead of rolling out of bed and starting his day, he buries himself deeper under his blankets.

Sometimes, he knows when the bad days are coming, but sometimes he doesn’t. It’s fucking inconvenient, regardless.

He curls into a ball so tight he can only take shallow breaths. If he breathes too deep, his lungs will catch on something, tearing and hurting where there isn’t a wound. That’s what this feels like–a wound. And the worst part is that he knows he’ll be fine tomorrow. Or if not tomorrow, the day after that. 

He still has to go through the motions. Still has to get up and go to work and do his best. It’s hard to do his best when he feels like he’s dragging his own body around, a dead weight. He looks inside himself and sees something dark and yawning.

Meera knocks on the door and peeks her head in. “Em, are you coming down for breakfast?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says, but his voice is muffled by his pillow.

The door creaks shut, and he assumes Meera’s gone, but then the mattress dips. “Do you want me to get Elspeth?”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

She scoffs. “Sure you are.”

He sighs, letting out the little bit of air in his lungs.

“Scoot over,” she demands.

He makes a face, even though she can’t see it, but he wiggles closer to the wall. She flops down next to him. Her earrings chime when her head hits the corner of his pillow. The bed isn’t really designed for two people, especially when one of those people is a goliath. Emery might be annoyed if it were anyone else invading his space.

He pulls his blanket down to look at her. Out of everyone in his family, Meera is the least likely to be physically affectionate. She doesn’t hang off people like Elspeth and Ameya, or sit close like Rahul and Neelam. She doesn’t give forehead kisses like Kishore. 

She’s looking at him from the corner of her eye. “Nothing I say is really going to help, right?”

Emery shakes his head. 

“Do you want me to leave?”

He shrugs. Honestly, he doesn’t want to be alone, but he’s not great company even on the best of days.

Meera folds her hands over her stomach and says, “Alright, whatever. Let me know if you make a decision.”

“I should get up,” he croaks.

“You have a few minutes. Hopefully there’ll be food left, but I’ll make you something for the road if not.”

“Thanks,” he says and ducks back beneath the blankets.

Eventually, Meera nudges him with her elbow. She doesn’t say anything, and doesn’t linger when he slogs through his morning routines. More than once he has to remind himself to keep moving, and his own delays mean that he doesn’t have time for breakfast. Well, it’s shitty but it won’t be the first time he’s started work on an empty stomach.

Before he leaves, Meera presses a sandwich into his hands. A spark of surprise goes through him, but he doesn’t know why. Of course Meera made him food. She said she would, and she always honors her word. It’s one of the many things Emery respects and appreciates about her.

“You better eat this,” she says, both sharp and soft at the same time.

He gives her a colorless smile, but nods.


	14. Grow (Kishore, Neelam & Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neelam and Elspeth argue; Kishore tries to smooth things over

Kishore wakes up to the sound of raised voices. They’re coming from the room next door. Upon investigating, Kishore finds a livid Elspeth waving her arms at Neelam, whose face is dark and mulish.

“What is wrong with you?” Elspeth demands, her voice pitching high.

“Leave me alone,” Neelam growls. She meets Elspeth’s gaze, unyielding, and there’s a vicious intensity to her stare that makes a shiver of worry go down Kishore’s spine. 

Kishore rests one of her hands on the doorjamb. “Elspeth. Neelam,” she says.

Elspeth flails and spins on her heel. “Kishore!”

Kishore lifts her eyebrows, but doesn’t speak.

“Neelam won’t hang out with me!” Elspeth says, refusing to let the silence draw out for too long. As soon as the words come out of her mouth, she makes a face, like she’s realized how nonsensical they are.

“I don’t want to,” Neelam bites out. 

“But you never do anything! It would be good for you,” Elspeth cries, apparently pushing past her moment of doubt. “My friends want to meet you. Why don’t you want more friends?”

Neelam’s hands are curled into fists; the tension in her body reminds Kishore of a bowstring, arrow notched and ready to fire.

“Elspeth. Downstairs, now,” Kishore says, voice even and firm.

Elspeth lets out an aggrieved sound, hands flying up in the air again. She stomps past Kishore and down the stairs. Her steps thunder.

Once Elspeth is gone, Neelam’s eyes drop to the floor. “I don’t want to,” she repeats.

“You don’t have to,” she says. 

Neelam nods, and bites at her bottom lip a little bit. “Sorry for being loud.” Fading anger blunts and sharpens her words at the same time.

“It’s alright.” Kishore crosses the threshold and shuts the door behind her. She sits on the bed that Neelam sleeps in most days. 

It takes a few moments, but the unease sloughs off of Neelam’s shoulders. Still frowning, she plops down beside Kishore and presses her forehead into Kishore’s arm.

“Elspeth is so _loud_ ,” Neelam says. There’s a slight tremor in her voice. 

“Yes. I will speak to her,” Kishore replies.

“Maybe someday I’ll go with her.”

“It’s up to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Neelam mutters, voice muffled against Kishore’s sleeve as she presses closer.

“Why? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Everyone is doing something different,” Neelam says. “But I’m here. I don’t do anything.”

A sharp feeling catches in Kishore’s chest. She gathers her thoughts, and hopes she says the right words. “You are an explorer, Neelam. You always were. Even when you could barely walk, you wanted to see everything. It wasn’t easy, keeping track of you, especially with all the new tunnels being excavated.”

Neelam huffs, almost a laugh.

“You have your friend, and you go to the observatory,” Kishore continues. “There are books in this house because of you. I did not anticipate that, and I’m glad. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Don’t measure yourself by others; what you think is right has worth.”

Neelam nods. “Not every plant grows the same,” she says.

Kishore smiles and presses a kiss to the top of Neelam’s head. “Yes. Exactly.” 

—

Elspeth is at the dining table, legs stretched out. Her head is thrown back and she glares at the ceiling. She doesn’t react when Kishore takes the chair beside her. 

Kishore brings her legs up to sit cross-legged and closes her eyes. She begins to focus on her breathing, as if settling into a meditation.

Elspeth shifts, and there’s a thunk against the table. Kishore looks; Elspeth slumps across the table, cheek against its surface. It’s not a comfortable position. She’s waiting for Kishore to fill the quiet this time.

Kishore gives her a few moments to languish before speaking. “You and Neelam are close in age, but you are different people.”

Elspeth throws herself into an upright position, and gives Kishore a desperate look. “I want… It was easier before,” she says. “Before we lived here. Neelam liked me then. Rahul likes me. He’s met my friends!”

“Neelam still likes you,” Kishore replies. “But she gets to choose how she spends her time.” She looks Elspeth in the eye, and says, “She’s never had a choice before.”

Elspeth wilts. “Oh.”

“Being different doesn’t mean you can’t be friends. Give her time,” Kishore says. “Be patient.”

Elspeth cringes. “I’m bad at that.”

“I know, but you can improve. You are capable.”

“If anyone else said that to me, I’d be upset, but I know what you mean,” she says, a humorless smile on her face. “You think I can be better.”

“I know you can be better, if you want to be.”

“What if I don’t want to be?”

“That is your choice. I’ll respect that just like I respect Neelam’s choices,” Kishore says.

Elspeth rolls her eyes. “Yeah, alright. Fine. I’ll try to be patient. Gods, if you were any more supportive I wouldn’t even need to walk for myself.”

Kishore’s eyebrow quirks. “I’m not carrying you anywhere.”

“Good, because I don’t want to be carried.” Her arms fold over her chest and she’s trying to look haughty, but there’s a smile at the corner of her mouth.


	15. Crush (Elspeth & Kishore)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elspeth has a fickle heart and Kishore has a headache

“Ki,” Elspeth groans, throwing herself into a kitchen chair.

Kishore’s in the middle of washing dishes; she thought everyone had gone to bed, but apparently Elspeth has a grievance. “Yes?”

Elspeth presses the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Your friends are really, really attractive,” she says, a little breathless.

It’s generally not something Kishore dwells on, but she isn’t blind to appearances. “I suppose so.” 

“How’d you do it? Get a whole group of attractive friends? Even Hope’s hot in ten years,” Elspeth says. “And you seriously don’t like-like any of them? Excluding Hope, of course.”

“We’ve discussed this.” Kishore frowns. “I can’t. Not now.”

“But if you had to choose, who’d you choose?”

“Elspeth.” There’s a warning in her tone. 

“Emery answered when I asked him,” Elspeth grumbles. “I know who I’d choose.”

Kishore watched the whole thing unfold during dinner, a vague sense of horror growing in the back of her head. Elspeth’s interest skipped right over Cihro and landed on Caius, of all people. Elspeth’s always been capricious; nothing she says or does should surprise Kishore anymore.

“He was so nice to Ameya,” Elspeth says, voice thoroughly smitten. “I like when people are nice to her, since she gets crap from kids her age.”

“I suggest you stay away from him,” Kishore says. “He is different from Cihro.”

“Different how?”

There are numerous differences, but Kishore goes with the most pressing one. “Cihro would never harm you. Caius might, even if he didn’t intend to.”

Elspeth’s expression goes a little dark. “What does that mean?”

“It’s not my story to tell,” Kishore replies. “I’ll say what I’ve said before: You should spend time with people your own age.”

“Caius isn’t old, though!”

“Older than you. Old enough that this isn’t something you should be entertaining.”

Elspeth sits sideways, spine straight, hands clasped tight over the back of the chair. The cerulean scales along her cheekbones flash as her face twists with bitterness. “There’s nothing wrong with having a crush, Kishore! You don’t care that Emery has a boyfriend, or that Rahul’s basically dating his boss’ daughter. Gods, why don’t you want me to be happy?” 

Kishore steps away from the sink and wipes off her hands on a towel. She joins Elspeth at the table, and rests her elbows on her knees. The ire in Elspeth’s eyes doesn’t fade; she folds her arms over her chest, hands in fists.

“I want nothing more than for my family to be happy and safe,” she says. “I won’t stop you from making friends; I wouldn’t, even if I could. I’m glad that you and the others are making connections in the city. We weren’t truly allowed to create a community before, at least not one of our choosing. 

“You’ve adapted beautifully to life here, and I’m proud of you. But your mother trusted me with taking care of you and Emery, and even if she hadn’t, I love you, Elspeth. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Elspeth ducks her head, and wipes at her eyes.

“You wear your heart so openly; I both admire and fear for you,” Kishore adds.

“I miss her,” Elspeth says in a small voice.

“I do, too,” Kishore says and reaches out to take Elspeth’s hands in her own. She squeezes her fingers and rubs her thumbs over her knuckles. “I understand why you’re upset–”

“You don’t even care about romance. How could you understand?” Even while complaining, Elspeth’s hands tighten their hold.

“I can see how it must look to you, the double standard with your brothers.”

Elspeth offers a begrudging nod. “I know it’s not the same, but it feels that way.”

“I would have you tread carefully, regardless of the person you’re interested in,” Kishore says. 

“Yeah, okay. That makes sense. You’ve never given me bad advice, what’s with that?” She gives Kishore a critical look. “Like, not even when I was a little kid.”

“I had good teachers,” Kishore says.

“My mom?”

“And mine.”

Elspeth lets go of Kishore’s hands and stretches her arms high above her head and lets out a gusty sigh. “She’ll get better,” she says, smiling her confidence. “She’ll come back to you.”

“I hope so.”

“I talk to Bahamut about Venu sometimes,” Elspeth admits. “Well, I talk about everyone, but I ask him to look after her especially.”

“I appreciate that, and so would she.”

Elspeth chews on her bottom lip for a moment, working up the courage to say, “Can I be friends with your friends? Even if they’re all older than me, being friends isn’t so bad, right? You were friends with Hope before he moved in.”

Kishore isn’t sure how to explain that she’s thought of Hope as family for a long time; there wasn’t much room for friendship a few months ago. She doesn’t correct Elspeth, because she isn’t completely wrong. “Keep in mind what I’ve said, but if you wish to be friends and they’re willing, then yes. I don’t trust all of them to the same degree, but I trust you to make good decisions.”

“Oh, great, now that you’ve said that I can’t do anything!”

A sliver of a smirk pulls at the corner of Kishore’s mouth. “That’s why I said it.”

“Ugh,” Elspeth gripes. “I bet you were a mom way before Ameya was born.”

“Meera would be the best one to ask. A question for tomorrow. It’s late.”

“I’m not tired yet. Can I help you with the dishes?”

Kishore nods. They stand side-by-side at the sink, and their companionable silence warms the room.


	16. Story (Kishore)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing for Ameya is hard until it isn’t

The trip to Turst Fields easily condensed into a story for Ameya. When Kishore sits down to write her more recent ventures, she isn’t sure how to continue. Everything that’s happened since then feels too close—Thea and the Ravagers, Thane’s death, the silver-tongued king inside the tomb, the cults scurrying beneath the city—and Kishore doesn’t know how to manufacture the distance needed to make the stories safe for her daughter.

She’s going to try, though, because Ameya deserves that, and so much more.

Kishore is a very different parent to Ameya than her mother was to her. Ameya is a different person than Kishore was at her age, and she’s fiercely glad for that. Ameya demands stories, something Kishore never did, and Venu was a natural storyteller, which Kishore is not. The irony strikes deep.

Kishore tries. She writes and edits and keeps editing, contouring the past few weeks into something palatable. Once she starts, it’s almost too easy. The world simplifies into black and white—Kishore and her companions are the heroes, even though Kishore would never ascribe that word to herself normally, and the foes they face are nothing more than dastardly villains.

It’s a giant fabrication that only echoes reality, but it’s not forever.

Someday, Ameya will know the truth behind these stories. Kishore will tell her everything–the terror, and the blood, and every ignoble thing she’s ever done. But for now, the watered-down fantasy is all she can provide. 


	17. Sling (Emery/Gabriel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel and Emery have a sleepover

Emery stumbles just outside the tavern. Gabriel grabs the back of his shirt to keep him from falling, but he doesn’t need to. Even while three sheets to the wind, Emery manages to fake the gracefulness he has while sober.

“Whoa,” Gabriel says, and his hand goes from Em’s shirt to resting on his shoulder. “You alright?”

Emery blinks up at him, blue eyes a bit unfocused. “I meant to ask you that.”

Gabriel deflates. He lies, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Emery presses. “I saw your face.”

Today they received word that the Silvercut Crossroads was attacked by Ravagers. The assault was unsuccessful, but Gabriel hasn’t known what to do or feel the whole day.

Before he joined the Shields, before he ever picked up a blade, his family lived near the road that winds its way from Westruun to Turst Fields. They had a small plot of land, and lived quietly. Peacefully.

Ravagers shattered that peace, attacking in the night. They killed his twin sister. Nothing’s been the same since. 

His parents relocated the rest of the family to Westruun, hoping a new setting would give everyone a fresh start. Gabriel and his younger siblings have made the city their home, but their parents have all but given up. His mother walls herself off from the rest of the world while his father buries himself in work.

Emery knows all of this. He knows how even mentioning the Ravagers casts a pall on the whole Zesiro house.

It’s been hours since he heard about the attack on the Crossroads, but he still feels both outside of himself and painfully present at the same time. After their watch shift, Emery dragged him to the nearest tavern. Gabe’s grateful for the distractions.

“I don’t want to go home,” Gabriel admits. “I don’t want to tell them.”

“They would’ve heard,” Emery mutters. 

“Yeah,” Gabriel agrees. News about Ravagers travels fast.

“Stay at my house,” Emery offers.

Gabriel is honestly startled. “What?”

“Kishore isn’t home, and I can make Elspeth sleep in another room,” he continues, and starts heading towards the Sunset District. His steps weave, almost like he’s dancing, but really he’s just very drunk.

A wave of warmth crashes into Gabriel’s chest. Emery hasn’t told him everything about where he’s from, or why he lives in a house with mostly goliaths, but Gabriel understands that Em isn’t from anywhere good. The Maallinen-Briars are part of Westruun, but there’s something mysterious about them. They’re protective and secretive. 

Hells, the first time Gabe met Elspeth, she was able to pull his entire life’s story out of him, all without revealing anything about herself beyond the superficial. He hasn’t had the chance to talk to Emery’s other family members, so maybe now is his chance? He wants to know them, wants to know the people who Emery calls family.

“Are you sure?” he asks, catching up to Emery in a few steps.

Emery nods, and the motion seems to throw off his balance. He pitches sideways, and Gabriel goes to steady him. Emery snorts. “Did I pay the barkeep?” he wonders, looking up at Gabe again.

“I paid. Don’t worry, Em.” Gabriel slings his arm around Emery’s shoulders, ostensibly to keep him from tipping over again. In truth, he’s been half in love with Emery for about two weeks now. It aches, but in the best of ways. He likes having Emery close, and uses any excuse to be in his space.

“I took _you_ out, though,” Emery protests. “I was supposed to pay!”

“Next time.” Gabriel hopes there’s a next time. Emery is so reserved, he never really quite knows what’s going on in his head. “Are you sure it’s alright for me to stay at your place?”

Emery stares at his feet while they walk, as if keeping an eye on them will stop him from tripping. “No, but I want you to.” He leans against Gabriel, and his arm goes around his waist.

Gabriel isn’t sure what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all.

When they get to Emery’s house, he fumbles with his keys for a moment. He makes a face, nose scrunched up in annoyance, and then manages to open the door. There’s a whirlwind of introductions–Rahul, Neelam, Ameya– and Meera looks irritated at his presence until Emery says his name. Something passes between Meera and Emery, a conversation without words, and soon Emery is pulling Gabriel up the stairs to his room.

Elspeth is sprawled on her bed, reading a book. Her stuffed animals are neatly arranged around her in a circle, an observing audience. She looks up when the door opens. “Em– Oh, hey, Gabe!”

“Pipsqueak,” he replies. 

She grins at the nickname, but then her expression fades and she looks hard at Emery. “Are you drunk?”

“Yes.” He collapses face first on his bed.

She looks at Gabriel. “Are _you_ drunk?”

He shrugs. “A little bit.”

She seems to mull his answer over, then rolls off her bed. “Well, have fun with your sleepover. I’m gonna go sleep in Ki’s bed, if you need anything,” she tells Gabriel. “I gotta get up early tomorrow, so I’ll be barging in here at indecent hours.”

There’s a warning in her tone, but Gabriel is too tired, too buzzed, too emotionally drained to figure out what she’s actually saying. “Yeah, okay. See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight!” Elspeth says, sing-song and loud. She slams the door shut behind her.

Emery grumbles what could be a complaint. Gabriel sits on the edge of his bed.

“You should drink some water.”

“Pitcher over there,” Emery mumbles and flails an arm out towards the far window. There’s a small table with a few cups and a pitcher of water.

Gabriel gets them both cups and helps pull Emery into an upright position so he can drink without spilling or choking.

“Thanks.” Emery drains the cup and sets it on the bedside table he appears to share with Elspeth. There’s a line drawn down the middle of its surface; on the left there’s a mess of hair ties, makeup, colored rocks, and scraps of paper. On the right is a candle, a tinderbox, and now a cup. It’s so quintessentially _Emery_.

“I’m very fond of you,” Gabriel blurts. 

Emery’s eyes snap to his. There’s more focus in his gaze now, after walking across half the city and drinking some water.

Heat blooms in Gabe’s face and he’s never been so glad to have dark skin that doesn’t show much of a blush. “I mean, thanks for letting me stay.” He stares into his cup.

A hand enters his vision and takes the cup from his loose fingers. Then, there’s a hand on his chin, tilting his face up. Emery is closer, kneeling beside him. “I want you to be okay,” he says. “You can stay here as long as you need.”

It takes such little effort to cant his head to the side and lean forward. Their lips nearly touch, but Gabriel hesitates. He tries to pull back, but Emery’s hands cradle his face, bringing him forward, bridging the space between them. Emery’s lips are gentle, careful, unsure. Gabriel squeezes his eyes shut and kisses back, fingers twisting in Emery’s hair.

When they separate, Gabriel can’t quite open his eyes. Emery exhales, and it hitches, like he’s laughing. Gabe kisses him again, quick and fast, and then presses his face into Emery’s shoulder. Em brushes a kiss to the side of his head, and his arms wrap tight around him.

Gabriel lets the tension in his body loosen. He’s broken open and whole and so scared by what’s outside the city’s walls but… He isn’t alone. He doesn’t have to be alone. Emery is with him.


	18. Here (Kishore & Venu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She misses her mother

Kishore curls into a ball on the floor. She presses her forehead against her mother’s knees. Warmth seeps through the fabric of Venu’s dress. **  
**

Kishore’s voice is dim. “I wish you were still here.”

It’s a costly truth.

There isn’t a response. It’s been a long time since she expected one.


	19. Steal; Death; Safe (Kishore & Meera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steal: Meera is missing; Kishore leaves Westruun
> 
> Death: Meera is alive; Aritian isn’t
> 
> Safe: Kishore treats Meera’s wounds, post-abduction

**Steal**

If Kishore were a different person–someone more like Elspeth, maybe–she would pray. She would pray for Meera and Emery and the rest of her family. She would pray for herself, if she remembered. 

But Kishore has never felt the call of the divine, has never looked upwards or outwards for strength. Maybe that’s a personal failing of hers, the fact that her soul cannot exist anywhere but inside her own body. Holiness is a thing to be observed, not touched or owned or surrendered to. 

Her hands are still cold; her heart flutters an uneven rhythm.

Shame boils in her gut. This morning shouldn’t have happened. The painful detachment, the fear, the shaking hands–she was supposed to leave that in the tunnels. That wasn’t meant to follow her here. Feeling that way, being ripped open and left floundering, that wasn’t supposed to happen anymore.

Not for the first time, she wonders if she was meant for the life she’s living right now. They stole so much from her, maybe they’ve already taken her options, too.

And she’s admitted to it–she’s not alright. She isn’t fine. How can she be? Today has not been kind. The vision of her mother, wizened and bloodied, still lurks in her mind. Her sister is gone, and Kishore can’t follow. She’s handed her responsibility over to Emery, and she’s leaving the city to crawl beneath the earth again. 

She uses her quarterstaff as a walking stick. Her feet won’t fail her, she won’t let them. The familiarity of her weapon isn’t strong enough to provide comfort, but she pretends it does.

Regardless of how she feels right now, she knows that leaving the city isn’t the hardest thing she’s ever done. 

* * *

**Death**

She curls over Meera’s body, tracks the rise and fall of her sister’s chest, and presses their foreheads together. Her skin is warm; Meera is alive. Unconscious but alive. Kishore squeezes her eyes shut and reminds herself to keep breathing. 

It’s impossible to ignore the death in the room behind her. 

Kishore knows death. She’s known death from an early age–the lives of Tiamat’s miners are not worth much. She knows the smell of death, the processes of decay, the final moments between here and gone. She’s felt life slip away beneath her own hands, caused by her hands, and she’s watched a dozen aftermaths. 

She lived an aftermath until it was cut short by Thane’s return. Scars linger, still.

Aritian’s death feels different from the others she’s witnessed.

Meera is alive. Kishore’s relief is pyrrhic. 

Finding her sibling should not have come at the cost of someone else’s. This was not a bargain she was willing to make.

Can she afford to care about people who are not part of her? Empathy is a burden she never wanted, and until recently it wasn’t one she could bear. Now, she is allowed. More than allowed, she is forced to feel, forced to know. 

She crumbles beneath the truth: She doesn’t get a choice in this, too. 

Her mind is loud. Her mind has been loud for days. It’s unbearable.

* * *

**Safe**

Meera sits on the kitchen counter. Her eyes are closed, and her face is smooth except for a small furrow between her eyebrows. Kishore rubs a salve over her cuts and bruises. They create a strange mirror–Meera was always the one to treat Kishore’s wounds, back when Kishore took on every punishment, every hurt, if it meant her family went unharmed.

What Kishore wouldn’t give to still be that shield. But freedom has its costs.

“I’m sorry,” Kishore says.

Meera’s eyes flutter open, like she’s coming out of a dream. “What?”

“We were supposed to be safe here,” Kishore continues. “I’m sorry.”

Meera swallows. “You said it wasn’t them. It was another group. It wasn’t them.”

Kishore shakes her head. “It wasn’t them,” she echoes.

“You saved me,” Meera says. 

“I had help.”

“Doesn’t make it worth less.”

Kishore closes her eyes and tries to center herself. She wants to sleep, but tomorrow is the resurrection ritual and she braces herself for failure.

She opens her eyes and stares at Meera. She’s had Meera’s face memorized for eighteen years; she knows it better than her own. Despite their disagreements and petty spats, she loves her. Or maybe it’s because of their differences that Kishore loves her–a hearth fire burns in Meera, and Kishore knows she’ll never be able to mimic its warmth. “You are my sister, Meera. I will always come for you.”

“I know. I’ve always known.”

Kishore looks down. The skin on her knuckles is broken. She forgot to wrap her hands after dinner. 

Meera takes the salve and begins to spread it over Kishore’s hands. 

The tight feeling in Kishore’s chest loosens, and she breathes easier.


	20. Flight (Kishore & Hope)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope is running; Kishore doesn’t know why

Hope leaps away from Kishore and takes to the air. She drops out of the tree and watches his flight. He’s little more than a flash of pale wings and dark fabric across the starry sky. 

Kishore swallows against a sudden tightness in her throat. Something in Hope’s posture, the way he moves—something is wrong. It’s almost like that day in Turst Fields, when he won the archery contest. The crowd made him nervous, so she led him to a quieter place. 

Kishore knows Hope better now than she did then, and right now he reminds her of a wounded creature. 

She understands that look. She’s worn it herself. She just doesn’t know what’s caused it for Hope. Ignorance is a painful burden. Her heart twists, sharp and loud inside her chest.

When Thane asks if they should follow, Kishore’s immediate thought is _Yes_. But if Hope’s running, he’s going to keep running. Following won’t help, at least not tonight. She won’t force him to stay on the ground any more than she’ll force him to explain himself. Her love for him does not supersede his needs. 

On the way back to Westruun, she keeps her eyes on the sky. Despite her wishes, she doesn’t see Hope again.


	21. Parting (Kishore & Hope)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope rides off into the sunset to be a bounty hunter; Kishore has feelings about this

Kishore takes a deep breath, steadying herself. When she exhales, her breath is a stuttering mess, and she fights her lungs for control.

Her eyes stay on Hope until he’s out of sight. He doesn’t look back, and it stings, but she’s glad for it because it would make watching him walk away all that more difficult. He turns the corner, swept off by the gregarious gunslinger. Kishore closes her eyes and tries to relax the frisson of tension in her shoulders. 

Her heart is full of fear and pride and love. 

“I won’t go if you don’t want me to,” he said, and his words were soft with something almost like fear. Not fear that she’d make him stay, but fear of actually going. Fear of the unknown, of leaving home. Fear of leaving her, perhaps.

It had to be his choice, though, and she would never stop him from doing what he wants or needs. She would never forgive herself, and eventually neither would he.

This is a good thing. It has to be. There’s so much Hope still has to learn, and Kishore can’t be the one to teach him everything. She doesn’t want him to end up like her, constantly unlearning the lies she internalized early on. 

The feeling of Hope’s hands gripping the back of her shirt lingers; she wishes she’d held onto him a moment longer. He seemed just as hesitant to let go.

Kishore leans on her quarterstaff. Each breath is easier than the last, though the pain in her chest remains. It’ll stay there, she thinks, until Hope comes home safely. She swallows back the thickness in her throat, and does her best to school her expression into something neutral. She stands up straight, shoulders squared despite the various burdens she bears.

Hope is brave and strong. He has seen terrible things, and yet his goodness shines through. Kishore misses him already, but she’s grateful that she has him in her life, regardless of the distance between them. 


	22. Love (Kishore & Rahul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever make a character ace and happily single just to flex on all the people who told you that you’d be missing out because you’re ace and also happily single??? No? Just me??

Rahul’s at the kitchen table, surrounded by various sketches and design drafts. He hums a soft tune under his breath, one that Day played for Ameya recently. Kishore’s nearby, notepad in hand, taking stock of what she needs to buy the next time she goes to the market.

The humming fades, and Rahul shifts in his seat. There’s the sound of a pencil rolling off the table and clattering onto the floor, followed by a soft, “Crap,” from Rahul. Kishore doesn’t check on him quite yet, not wanting him to see the amused smile at the corner of her mouth.

“Um, Kishore?”

“Yes?” She sets her notes on the counter and gives him her full attention.

“Meera told me not to bother you about this, but I wanted to ask anyway,” he says. His fingers twist together in his lap, and his expression is full of concern. “Is that alright?”

“Of course,” she replies. “You can ask me anything, and I’ll answer as well as I can.”

He pauses, a crease between his eyebrows. “Have you ever been in love?”

Kishore shakes her head. “No. Not like you’re saying,” she says. “I’ve never been in a romantic relationship, nor felt the need to pursue one.”

“Why?”

Kishore’s shrugs, even though the gesture feels foreign to her. “Some people aren’t interested in romance. I’ve never felt driven to pursue anything with anyone. I don’t know if that’s because of where we’re from, or if it’s part of who I am, intrinsically. I suspect the latter.”

Rahul mulls over this, face going through a litany of emotions. “Does that bother you?”

“No. It would only bother me if it was something I once had, that was taken.”

Rahul nods, slowly. “Why aren’t the rest of us like that?”

“The same reason why I _am_. It’s just how we’re made, like your eye color, or how tall you’ll grow,” she explains.

“You love _us_ , though.”

“I do,” she tells him. “The love I have for my family, for you, is important to me. It’s been that way for a long time.”

“So you never want to be in a relationship?” Distress strains the edge of his voice, a slight warbling that betrays his feelings.

Kishore sits in the empty chair beside him. She glances over his sketches, admiring his work. There was a time when he didn’t have paper, so he drew on the cave walls and in the dirt. Early on, he showed a spark of talent, of creativity, that made Kishore choke on tears and wish for something better for him.

Her fingertips trace the edge of his current draft, careful not to smudge the pencil marks. His eyes track her movements.

“Why all these questions, Rahul?” she wonders.

“Well, Meera told me–” He gestures, abstract, but Kishore understands.

“She and Elspeth were being… a little overbearing in regards to my love life, or lack thereof,” she explains. “I’ve noticed that they do the same to you at times.”

“Rila’s a friend,” he says, though the grey of his skin’s taken on a warmer hue. “I like her a lot, and she’s really nice, but I’m happy just to be her friend.”

“Are you asking me for advice?”

His eyes go a little wide. “Do you have any?”

“It might be difficult, since she is your employer’s daughter, and so if you were anything more than friends, that could create tensions at work,” she says. “I would keep that in mind if you want anything more with her.”

“Maybe someday? If she’s interested. Everything is still so new, you know?”

“Yes, I know.” After a moment, she quirks her eyebrow. “Does is bother you that I’ve never been in love?”

He shakes his head.

“Then what is it?”

“I want you to be happy,” he says, voice small.

Kishore blinks, and can’t keep the surprise from her face. “I don’t need a relationship to be happy, Rahul. Maybe someday I’ll meet someone, maybe I won’t, but either way that won’t determine how fulfilled my life is. My happiness doesn’t depend on romance, and it never will. I’m not… missing out on anything, because it’s not important to me. Do you understand?”

“You have us and you have your friends,” he says. “That’s enough, right?”

“Yes. More than enough, with how many of you there are.” The corners of her eyes crinkle with a gentle smile.

Rahul ducks his head, but he’s smiling, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a toast to the token cishet of the maallinen-briar clan, rahul maallinen, for being the actual best boy in westruun


	23. Fight (Kishore & Meera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore says, “Meet me in the pit,” and Meera isn’t pleased

When Kishore asks Meera to chaperone Ameya at her next fight, Meera is unimpressed, both with the request and with Kishore’s new hobby.

She’s in the middle of assembling sandwiches for Ameya and Neelam, and she rounds on Kishore, hands on her hips. “Why are you doing this? Don’t you fight enough otherwise?”

In response, Kishore takes Meera’s hand and places her pouch of earnings on her palm. Meera’s hand bobs, not expecting the weight of a hundred gold.

Meera’s eyes go a little wide, but then they narrow. “This isn’t about money.”

Kishore having to look up to meet Meera’s eyes isn’t a new development; Meera’s been taller than Kishore since she was thirteen. Even so, it now reminds Kishore that her sister is, more or less, an adult. 

“Do you want the truth, or something easy to accept?” Kishore asks.

Surprise and concern flicker over Meera’s face. She doesn’t need much time to answer. “The truth, always.”

“I spoke with the cultist that was executed,” Kishore replies. “I shouldn’t have, but Aritian asked me to help with the interrogation.”

Meera sets the coin pouch aside and puts a hand on Kishore’s elbow.

“He knew me, though he was not part of our cell,” she continues. “Everything he said and believed was nonsense, but it was nonsense I didn’t want to hear. Each time I meet a person like him, it gets more difficult. Harder to bear–knowing that I was so close to being them.”

“Why is that so difficult? You’re not brainwashed, and you’re not going to be,” Meera says. “What makes it hard?”

“I don’t know how to reach them,” Kishore says. “Between the spells they’re under and the things they’re forced to believe, I don’t know how to undo the damage.”

“Maybe you can’t.”

“That’s what disturbs me,” Kishore admits. “I’m working through my… concerns in multiple ways. The fighting pits give a different sort of clarity than meditation.”

Meera knocks her forehead against Kishore’s shoulder, and heaves out a peeved sigh. “Fine, I’ll go. Only because Emery is a stickler for the rules and Rahul would end up crying as soon as you take a hit,” she says. She steps away and tucks the coin pouch into one of her apron pockets. “I don’t agree with what you’re doing, none of it, but if helps you, and if me being there helps you, then fine.”

Kishore smiles, a pale thing, and nods. “Thank you. Not only for this, but for everything else you do, as well.”

Meera rolls her eyes. “You always make it sound like I’m the only thing keeping this house standing.”

“You very well might be,” Kishore replies, and her smile feels warmer.

Meera scoffs, and says, “You’re in charge of these sandwiches now. Let me know if the foundations start crumbling.” She sweeps out of the room, and Kishore can hear her voice from the other room, low and soothing. She’s talking to their mother.

Instead of dwelling on the splintered feeling in her chest, she turns to the counter and finishes making lunch.


	24. Dragon (Kishore & Ameya)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ameya has questions about Draconic

Kishore is nearly asleep, Ameya bundled up in her arms, when her daughter speaks. 

“Dragons have their own language, kinda like how we do, right? I’ve heard you talk the same way as Elspeth and Emery.”

It takes some effort, but Kishore drags herself back from the edge of unconsciousness. She blinks open her eyes. “Draconic,” she says, voice lower than normal, rough with tiredness. “Meera, Rahul, and Neelam know it, too.”

“Does Grandma?”

“Yes. They made us speak it.”

“Why don’t I?”

“I did not allow it.”

“Why?”

Kishore sighs. Ameya knows the truth, at least more than Kishore would like. Her daughter isn’t stupid or fragile. Ameya is vibrant and strong and always, always, always taking in new ideas and lessons. It’s time that Kishore talks about this part of her life without artifice.

There’s enough light in the room from the twin moons, so Kishore doesn’t bother with the candle at her bedside. She sits up, and gathers Ameya in her lap. Ameya looks up at her, and her expression is… It’s a smaller, less refined version of the inscrutable expression Kishore wears when confused or waiting to understand.

When Venu said they looked alike, Kishore agreed. Venu wasn’t wrong. Kishore shares similarities with her siblings and her mother, but the ways in which Ameya mirrors her is nothing short of bewildering.

Kishore says, “You were meant to be theirs. From the moment you were conceived, you were meant for _her_ , for Tiamat. I changed my mind because I love you and I always have.”

“But at first you didn’t.” Ameya’s voice is small, like she doesn’t want to speak but has to, and Kishore somehow understands that.

“You haven’t met many pregnant people,” Kishore begins, “but early on, there aren’t that many changes. Well, there are changes, but those are small and easily ignored or explained away. I didn’t actually think I was pregnant until my monthlies stopped.”

“Were you scared?”

“Not until you moved for the first time. That’s when I changed my mind,” Kishore explains. “I loved you from that moment onward, and I knew I would never give you over to Tiamat and her followers.

“I tried my best to keep them and their influence from you. Thea helped to a degree, I believe. Not all of my wishes were respected, but they didn’t force a language that isn’t yours on you.”

“So, I can’t learn it now?”

Kishore is surprised by the question, but she doesn’t know why. Of course Ameya wants to learn, to know, to grow in more ways than physical.

“Do you want to learn Draconic?”

“Yeah. It sounds really cool.”

Kishore has never thought of it that way, but she can’t argue. “Very well.”

Ameya’s dark eyes widen. “Wait, really?”

“You are making a choice to learn. I won’t stand in your way and cheapen that choice,” she explains.

“Will you teach me?”

Kishore nods. “Yes.”

Ameya’s smile outshines the reservations lurking in Kishore’s heart.


	25. Drive (Kishore & Emery; AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern-day setting, Kishore and Emery explore the open road

Kishore still hasn’t learned how to drive, but that’s fine. She doesn’t mind walking or taking the bus. Still, that doesn’t mean she dislikes being on the road. Occasionally, Emery needs to leave the house for a few hours and he usually invites Kishore. She’s never told him, but she always looks forward to their outings.

There is no set destination, no real reason for the trip, and that is both daunting and freeing. They take to the highway and drive until Emery’s heart settles. They take whatever exit is next, and then continue for the sake of it. “Turn here?” Emery will wonder while they idle at an empty intersection. 

Kishore will look in the direction he points and nod. “Sure.”

Sometimes they sit in silence, sometimes Emery talks about his day, sometimes they talk about Thea, sometimes Emery plays whatever music they can both agree on.

One time, they pulled off the road to stare at a power plant that shone with bright, white lights. For miles around stretched nothing but grassy fields. The power plant was completely still against the black backdrop of night; no one was there, at least not that they could see. “I feel like this isn’t real,” Emery commented. Kishore couldn’t disagree. 

Another time, they found an old brickyard where nearly everything had been reduced to rubble. The rocks were full of aquatic fossils and the leaves in the trees above were the color of fire. The sun made everything warm and golden. Emery filled his pockets with rocks, an elated look on his face.

They drive through the city on a frozen winter night. The thick layer of clouds overhead is somehow both orange and purple at the same time. Kishore feels small and dark beneath the skyscrapers. Emery is quiet. The music is low, but still fills the car with soothing, swaying sounds.

They stop at a gas station on their way back and Kishore stares at the skyline they left behind. She stares at the brightness of the city, her breath escapes in plumes, and she wants to commit the shape of the world to memory. She wants to internalize the imprint the cold and light makes on her eyes.

“Kishore,” Emery says when he finishes filling the tank. 

Just by looking, Kishore can _feel_ the dark circles beneath his eyes. If it were possible, she would lend him the scant light she’s gathered in her soul tonight. Instead, she ducks back into the car. She messes with the heat while Emery writes in the small notepad he uses as a mileage log. 

They pull away from the station and take to the road again.

It’s time to go home.


	26. Pattern (Meera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meera asks a friend for help

“I think I need your help with something,” Meera states.

Sanctuary startles and looks up from the lace tatting she’s working on. There’s a daughter of a noble house getting married soon, and her mother is demanding all new lace for the dress.

“Oh?” It’s not often that Meera asks for help, so Sanctuary is surprised and intrigued. Out of everyone at the shop, Meera is the most dedicated to figuring things out on her own. She’s twice as competent as those who have double the experience. Sanctuary would be jealous, if she wasn’t in constant wonderment.

Meera pulls a chair up by Sanctuary’s desk. The folds of her dress brush against Sanctuary’s knee, but there isn’t contact beyond that.

There are a few tieflings in Westruun, enough that her presence isn’t a problem for others. But goliaths? They’re rare. When Meera first started working in the shop, their human and elvish coworkers shied away from her. Their halfling employer didn’t seem bothered, and Sanctuary followed her lead. 

Having Meera close is nice, actually. Maybe to some her height is intimating, looming, overshadowing other, but Sanctuary’s seen her snort in laughter and fight tears of fear and frustration. Meera is a very real person. Sanctuary finds comfort in that, especially since so many people in their line of business have less personality and conviction that wet tissue paper.

Meera lays down a few sheets of paper; she seems to be designing a pattern from scratch. Unusual, since she tends to be the kind of person who just modifies existing patterns to suit her needs. It’s the only reason why she has such lovely clothes–with her height, the patterns she uses need to be altered.

“What’s this?” Sanctuary wonders.

“I’ve mentioned Hope, right?”

“The tiefling boy your sister adopted, yes.” It’s hilarious listening to Meera gripe about her family members. She loves them, obviously, deeply, but her exasperation is a joy to watch.

Meera rolls her eyes and lets out an annoyed huff. “Yes, that one.” She spreads out the papers. “He’s never had clothes that accommodate him–his tail and his wings. I’ve altered his pants for his tail, but I’m not sure how to go about making shirts he can wear.”

“You’re asking me because I’m a tiefling?”

Meera shakes her head. “No. I’m asking because your patterns make the most sense to me.” She pauses. “And because you have a tail.”

Sanctuary laughs, and sets aside her tatting. “Ah, of course. I’d love to help. Let’s see what you have so far.”

“Thank you."


	27. Truth (Emery & Neelam)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore eavesdrops on a conversation

Emery and Neelam are reading by the fireplace, curled up at opposite ends of the sofa. Kishore pauses in the shadows of the hallway, overwhelmed at the sight of them. She’s deeply grateful that they can have this–each other and the space to spend time together as equals, as family. 

Neelam closes her book, finger tucked between the pages to save her spot. She shifts, rising from her slouched posture. Emery notices, and looks up at her.

“They lied to us a lot, didn’t they?” Neelam asks. It’s more a statement than a question. 

“They did, yeah,” Emery says. “I knew it was happening at the time, but I didn’t realize the extent of it until–”

Neelam’s expression is sour. “Your mom still works for them.”

“So does your dad,” Emery replies, sharpish.

Neelam’s jaw tightens, her eyes narrow. 

Emery ducks his head. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

“He was taken from us,” Neelam says, voice a harsh whisper. “At least you got to spend time with your mom. The few times I saw him, my dad acted like he didn’t know who I was.”

“He probably didn’t,” Emery says.

“I know that! I know they did things to people like him,” she replies. “They always made it sound like we had choices, and those choices were fair and right. They tried to make us feel glad for where we were, and that was just… Those lies were just the surface.”

“Yeah,” he says, dejected.

“I hate them,” she utters, a hard tension going through her body. “I hate them so much.”

Emery just nods, and then he shifts to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with her. 

Kishore continues down the hall, heading towards the stairs. Just within earshot, she hears Emery speak again, fierce and muted. “I don’t know if anyone has, but people might tell you not to hate or not be angry. Don’t listen to them. Don’t let anyone tell you not to feel the way you do.”

Neelam heaves a sigh. “I won’t.”

“Good.”


	28. Sacrifice (Kishore & Venu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore regrets the choices she's made, and the choices others have made on her behalf

It’s her fault that Venu is not herself. It’s Kishore’s fault that, for the last eight years, her siblings haven’t had a mother.

She isn’t sure about anything, but her gut tells her this: Someone is dead because Ameya is alive. Someone Kishore would have loved. 

With searing clarity, Kishore remembers the last time she cried.

It was the first time she felt Ameya move inside her. She pressed a hand to her side, and a kick jolted against her palm. The fear she felt stole the air from her lungs, and she choked on it. Gods, she was so young and afraid and desperate for truth, but the truth she found wasn’t what she expected. Tears spilled over. The reality of her situation sunk into her–a new, untouched being grew inside her, innocent to everything, undeserving of the future planned for her. That was when Kishore knew she would never be able to give up her child. She would die before Tiamat could have her.

That hasn’t changed. Kishore would do anything to protect Ameya. It seems it’s a trait she somehow learned from Venu. That knowledge provides no comfort. If given the option between Ameya and an unborn sibling, she would choose Ameya every time. 

It isn’t fair that her mother wasn’t allowed the same choice. 

When has anything ever been fair, though? 

Once her mother eases into sleep, Kishore’s breath catches. She rolls over and curls into herself, tries to breathe deep. Blink back the tears. She can’t. She sobs on her next exhale, and then she can’t stop. Not wanting to wake anyone, she muffles her mouth with her hands, buries her face into the blankets, and even though she doesn’t want to, she lets herself cry. 


	29. Retreat (Kishore & Meera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning following Venu's night terror, Meera and Kishore have a heated discussion

Meera gives Kishore’s mended robes back to her in the morning. They look nearly as good as new, which is a testament to Meera’s skill. 

“Thank you,” Kishore says, but can’t quite make eye contact.

“You don’t have to go,” Meera says. “You can sit this one out.”

That makes Kishore look up. “Can I?” She shakes her head. “Gwen came here, of all places. Even though there are other druids nearby,” she sighs, “Gwen came here. I have to find the truth for her.”

“Your friends can find out, and they can tell you,” Meera presses.

Kishore takes a step back, towards the stairs. She needs to get changed and go, before she’s late meeting the others. “Keep an eye on Mother and Neelam for me, please,” she says.

“You didn’t come to get me last night. I said I would help.”

“It’s my fault she was awake at all,” Kishore admits, and saying those words is like drawing an arrow from a wound. There’s something still lodged in deep. Kishore will scar over before she’ll ever be able to pull all the hurt out.

Meera’s face screws up, all confusion and irritation. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know anything for sure, but someday I will,” she says. “I have ideas, theories. We’ll talk when I come back.”

“How long this time?” Meera’s props her clenched hands on her hips.

“A week, perhaps.”

Meera nods once, sharp and disapproving. “Why am I watching Neelam?”

Kishore pauses, and then wonders when she became so secretive with her own family. This isn’t something she should keep from Meera. “She cast a spell on me yesterday–”

“What?” Meera’s voice goes loud.

Kishore gestures for her to calm down. “It was a simple charm spell. I’ve seen it used many times, and I’ve had it cast on me before. I’m not harmed.”

Meera clenches her jaw. “You didn’t think to mention this before now?”

“I don’t want you to confront her about it,” Kishore replies. “Watch her and make sure she comes home at night. If she’s learning magic, that is her choice.”

“And I suppose you’ll talk to her once you get back? What if she uses another spell on you? What if she uses one on us?” Her voice is a harsh whisper.

“I will address it when I come home, yes,” Kishore says. She rolls away the building tension in her shoulders. “If she does anything to you or the others, do what you think is best. I suspect she only used a spell because I was pushing her too hard.”

Meera throws her hands into the air and shakes her head. “What happens if you don’t come back? Hmm? What happens then? Each time you go, Ameya asks if you’re safe. And you’re not, so I have to lie. She knows I’m lying.” She folds her arms over her chest, defensive, and her voice goes low again. “Do you know what Rahul said the other day? He was wondering what would make you happy enough to stay here.”

Kishore gathers her thoughts, slow, wounded. “It’s not about my happiness. I leave because I love you,” she explains. “I want to be where I’m most useful, because that means I’m in a better position to keep you safe. All of you.”

Meera deflates, and it’s not because Kishore’s words have won her over. It’s because she doesn’t want to argue anymore. Kishore realizes that both she and Meera are stubborn people. Neither of them will relent on this, not until something changes. 

Kishore can’t fix this right now–another item on the list–and so she retreats up the stairs.


	30. Waiting (Meera & Ensemble)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meera, in the moments after Kishore leaves to rescue Neelam

Meera believes in Kishore. If Kishore says she’ll come back, says she’ll find Neelam, then she will. Knowing isn’t the same as feeling. Sometimes, Meera knows and feels too much, and never at the right moments.

Kishore shuts the front door behind her when she leaves. Meera steps into the kitchen, and watches Kishore and her friends through the windows until they’re out of sight. What little she ate of dinner curdles in her stomach, and she pulls the gauzy curtains over the windows. 

Her hands are shaking. Gods damn it all. 

There’s work to be done. Dinner to finish, dishes to clean, and she should check on Elspeth and Gwen. She wraps her arms around herself, hoping it will still the jittery, fearful sensation in her bones. It’s a struggle to do anything right now but breathe steady. She stands in the center of the room, feeling more lost than she ever imagined she would in her own home.

Someone touches her arm. Meera jolts, and bites back the startled shriek in her mouth. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Emery says, voice low. 

“It’s fine,” she replies, terse. 

“It’s not,” he says. “I’m sorry.” He shifts closer, hand pressed to her arm. They stand together in silence for a few moments. “It’s stupid, saying all of this isn’t fair. Mother always told us that nothing is fair–fairness isn’t a right or a default.”

Meera can’t help but frown. “Did she really?”

“Yeah. It’s shitty advice. Just because things aren’t fair doesn’t mean that’s the way it has to be,” he says, a mulish sort of look on his face. “I think she always suspected that was a lesson I wouldn’t learn. I’ve never been good at accepting things as they are.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Meera admits. “It feels like whenever something settles down, or starts feeling better, everything falls apart instead.”

Emery heaves a deep sigh. “Do you want me to do an extra patrol? My superiors would be glad for it.”

“No, I want you here. At least until Kishore comes back.”

“Alright, then I’ll be here.”

Meera presses her face into her hands and sags. “I’m so angry. At everything. Why does this keep happening to us? Why can’t we be safe and happy for once?” Her voice shakes with rage. “They take and take and take, and even if it’s not _them_ this time, what more does the world want from us?”

Meera takes a deep breath and wipes the tears from her eyes. Her makeup is smudged, coloring the tips of her fingers in dark kohl. She must look a mess, since Emery goes to grab a damp washcloth for her. Removing her makeup is a small relief, but she’ll take it. “Thank you,” she tells Emery.

He shrugs a bit. “No problem.”

“Meera?” Ameya stands in the hall outside the kitchen, half hidden in the shadows. She looks like she wants to come closer, but is afraid to. 

“Yes, Ameya?” she says when she feels her voice is steady enough.

“Did Mom leave?”

Meera nods, and then gestures for Ameya to come closer. In the blink of an eye, Ameya is at her side, arms looped around her waist. Her voice is muffled by the folds in Meera’s shirt. “Everything feels bad. It didn’t before, and now it does.”

“You’re right.” Meera has one hand on Ameya’s back. The other begins tucking errant strands of hair back into Ameya’s braid. It would be easier just to unbraid everything and start over, but Meera can’t bring herself to go through the motions needed for that. “Neelam is… we don’t know where she is, or if she’s safe.” 

Ameya is quiet for a moment. “Are Mom’s friends helping her, like they did when you were missing?”

“Yes.”

“Then Neelam is safe,” Ameya says, matter-of-fact.

“I wish it were that easy,” Meera says.

Ameya’s face goes through several expressions–she has questions but doesn’t know what or how to ask. “I’m still hungry, is it okay if I keep eating?” she asks instead, vaulting over the current situation.

Meera’s smile is feeble, but real. “Of course.”

Ameya takes her hand and begins to pull her into the dining room. Over her shoulder, Meera makes eye contact with Emery. He gives her a nod. It’s a wonder how a gesture so small can be so comforting.


	31. Gentle (Elspeth & Gwen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen grieves the loss of the druids in the north, and Elspeth tries to comfort her

Elspeth finds Gwen tucked into a corner in Neelam’s room. She’s curled herself into a ball, knees pressed to her chest and face buried in her arms. Her hair is a blonde, tangled mess.

Generally, Elspeth isn’t allowed inside Neelam’s room, which is a rule she respects most of the time. But Kishore told her to go check on Gwen, and even if Neelam’s been a giant bag of weird recently, she’d probably want someone to be kind to her only friend.

When she opens the door, Gwen’s loud sobs die down into muffled whimpers.

“Hey,” Elspeth says. She tries to keep her voice soft. Gwen doesn’t do great with loud noises. “Why’re you sitting on the floor? Come on, that can’t be too comfy.” She sits on the edge of Neelam’s bed and pats the empty space next to her.

Gwen peeks up at Elspeth. There’s tension and hesitation in every line of her body. “Everything is going wrong,” she chokes out.

“Not everything,” Elspeth says. “I promise, not everything.”

Gwen sniffles and crawls over to the bed; Elspeth helps pull her up off the floor, and wraps one of Neelam’s blankets over her shoulders. She can’t stop crying; she’s trying to stop, jaw clenched, eyes screwed shut.

She’s taller than Elspeth by a few inches, but she’s sunken into herself. Elspeth wraps an arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay to cry,” she says, and Gwen replies with a keen that seems to come from her very core.

Elspeth swallows back the thickness in her throat and tucks Gwen close to her chest, holding her through the shudders that wrack her body.

She can’t say that she knows Gwen all that well, even though they’ve been living in the same house for over a week. She’s a quiet person, like Neelam, and they both seem to prefer to be out of the house during the day. It’s fine. Elspeth would’ve liked to hang out with Neelam and Gwen, but she wasn’t wanted, even before Neelam started acting off.

Anyway, she figures if Gwen doesn’t want a hug, she would’ve stayed on the floor. So, she hugs her, and hopes she isn’t holding too tight.

Elspeth doesn’t quite understand gentleness yet. Her mother never taught it to her, and she rarely saw it within the cult. Emery tried when they were kids, but only because he saw how Kishore was with her family. 

And now she’s part of that family, and she learns new things about what that means every day. Elspeth rocks Gwen a little bit, like how Emery does when she wakes up with nightmares. Their mother never rocked them back to sleep when they woke in the night, and for a long time Elspeth thought that was normal. 

No one should have to be alone when they’re sad or scared. 

“You’ll be okay,” Elspeth tells Gwen. “I know you will be. Kishore will figure out what’s going on with Neelam, and your druids, and she’ll find a way to fix it.”

Gwen nods against her shoulder. She shivers, and Elspeth rests her cheek against the top of her head.


	32. Absence (Kishore)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her mother's name is Venu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> context: fucking spell shit from aberration cthulhu wannabe assholes

Kishore can’t catch her breath. She’s cracked and bruised and broken her ribs enough times to know that’s not all she’s feeling. That would be too easy.

_What is my mother’s name?_

Neelam’s eyes flutter open, and Kishore can’t remember their mother’s name. Everyone else is there–Meera, Rahul, Emery, Elspeth, Ameya, Hope. Their names are seared into her soul, as much theirs as they are a part of her.

She scans the room, and can name all of her companions, her _friends_. 

But the name of the woman who gave her everything is gone.

She nearly named Ameya… What is her mother’s name? The name that could have been Ameya’s… Kishore fights against the pounding in her head, searching in vain for an answer.

A starry abyss yawns wide where knowledge used to be.


	33. Stay (Neelam & Gwen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen apologizes to Neelam during a walk in the woods

“I should’ve told somebody,” Gwen blurts.

“About what?”

“When you started acting weird, when it wasn’t you. That thing pretending to be you made me promise to stay quiet, and I didn’t know what to do,” she says in a rush, and her shoulders curl inward. It’s like she’s cringing away from a blow. 

They’re in the patch of forest just outside the western gate. Gwen leads, and their wandering feels a bit aimless, but Neelam doesn’t mind. What she does mind is how quiet Gwen’s been the last few days. Not that either of them are particularly loud, but still. Neelam assumed that once she was well enough to move about on her own, Gwen would go off and commune with nature on her own.

That’s one of the things that they both understand about each other: they need space sometimes. Solitude isn’t lonely, it’s necessary. Yet, Gwen isn’t looking to escape, and invites Neelam to walk with her.

Neelam loops her arm around Gwen’s, elbows locked together. “I’m not mad at you,” she says. “Y-You’re my best friend. How could I be mad at you for trying to keep a promise?”

“But it wasn’t you! It wasn’t you and whenever I tried to talk to you about it, you said you’d explain soon, and I never thought to push more? Why didn’t I try to push?”

Neelam feels a strange shiver go through her, from the back of her neck down to her stomach. “You know me,” she says, slow. “You knew I’d… You know that I don’t talk if I’m being forced.”

It’s been about three months since Neelam told Gwen the truth about where she and her family are from. “Oh, that explains a lot,” was what Gwen said in response. There have been questions here and there since she learned the truth, but never once has Gwen tried to trample on Neelam’s sense of autonomy. 

Gwen shrugs. “I trusted the thing that wasn’t you, but I should’ve known it wasn’t you, right?”

Neelam scoffs. “How? Things are weird, with the druids and you coming to live in the city.” She tightens her hold on Gwen’s arm a moment. “It only looks obvious now that you know what actually happened.”

“I still feel bad.”

“You shouldn’t. No one blames you,” Neelam presses.

“Kishore said it wasn’t my fault.”

“Kishore knows a lot of things. She’s smart like that.”

Gwen nods, but doesn’t seem to be done talking. She’s quiet for the next few minutes, though Neelam can practically hear the churning thoughts in her head. Neelam is patient with Gwen, more patient than she is with most other people. Pinpointing why is useless, she’s tried. All she really needs to know is that Gwen is her friend, and even if she doesn’t have much practice with having a friend, it’s worth trying.

Then, Gwen speaks. “Nini, how long do you think Kishore will let me stay, now that you’re feeling better?” 

Neelam blinks, and maybe she heard wrong? “Did… did someone say something?”

“What?”

“About you leaving. Why do you think Kishore’s going to kick you out?”

Gwen stutters over a few not-words, caught off-guard by the question. “I don’t know?”

“You can stay with us. I know we don’t have much space, and you hate the city, and we’re really loud sometimes, but,” Neelam shrugs, “you can stay. For as long as you need.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought Kishore was just being nice? I didn’t know if she was serious,” Gwen explains.

“She’s always serious.”

Gwen lets out a startled laugh, and Neelam smiles. Gwen’s about to say more, but a bird catches her eye, flitting past in a flash of yellow and black wings. It’s a tiny thing, and perches on a nearby branch.

Things fall back into place; Gwen calls the bird to land on her outstretched hand. She tells Neelam about the species, voice soft, and takes Neelam’s hand. Without much effort, she gets the bird to hop over onto Neelam’s open palm. It lets out a trilling call, and seems to study them as intently as they study it. Then, it bobs its way onto the tips of Neelam’s fingers, and takes to the air.


	34. Aim (Emery & Neelam)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neelam really does want to learn how to use a bow, honest

Neelam is outside the house when Emery comes home. She’s leaning against the wall near the front door, arms folded over her chest. Her hair is tied back for once, the mass of curls tamed into a messy bun. **  
**

She doesn’t look at him when he approaches, but that’s not unusual. Neelam’s always been a bit weird about eye contact. She’s always been a bit weird in general, but no one can blame her for that. They’re all a bit weird, the Maallinen-Briars.

“Hey,” Emery says. 

Her eyes flash to him, then down again. “Hi.”

“Where’s Gwen?”

“She’s inside.”

Emery takes off his gauntlets and joins her, back against the wall. “You alright?” She’s looking a lot better than she did a couple days ago, fresh from whatever hell she endured at the observatory. Between Gwen’s spells and Kishore and Meera’s constant mothering, Neelam isn’t wanting for care.

“Sorry I’ve missed practice,” she says, eyes downcast again.

Technically, he’s still teaching her about archery. They have a set time every couple days when they’re free to use the Shield firing range. For the last handful of sessions, Emery’s practiced alone.

He likes the quiet focus that falls over his brain while he fires arrow after arrow, but teaching someone is an even better distraction from all the shit inside his head. Besides, Neelam wanted to learn. She should know how to defend herself, even if it’s just from a distance.

“It’s fine–”

Neelam shakes her head, adamant, and says, “I’m sorry. I got distracted by… lots of things.” She bites at her bottom lip, and her shoulders are tense.

“Hey,” he says and ducks his head a bit so he can look up at her face, “I said it’s fine. I’ve been busy, too. A lot of shit’s been happening.” He shrugs. “If there are days when you’re not feeling up to it, that’s okay.”

“I told Gwen, and she said she wants to watch,” she admits. “Next time.”

“If you’re fine with that, then so am I. She doesn’t have a whole lot of people. I don’t think any of us mind being her people.”

Neelam grimaces. “She’s having a hard time trusting other druids, between the archdruid here lying to Kishore and the northern grove falling to hags. She says druids should know better.” 

“Has she been teaching you druid stuff?” Emery wonders.

Neelam bobs her head in a nod. “Some. She talks the most when we’re outside the city. It’s nice.”

“Yeah, we didn’t get a whole lot of that growing up, did we?” 

There’s a twitch of a smile on her face, but then that worried, guilty expression is back. “So, it’s okay if I start coming back to practice?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m happy to teach you for as long as you want to learn."


	35. Heal; Gratitude (Elspeth & Kestrel; AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heal: Future setting AU; Elspeth shows off her healing skills 
> 
> Gratitude: Kestrel expresses their thanks in person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> elspeth and kestrel are around 19 years old here

**Heal**

There’s a commotion at the temple doors. Elspeth’s near the main altar with Gilana; they turn to the sound of footsteps and shouting. Before Elspeth even comprehends the words ringing through the air, she’s running towards the noise.

An older earth genasi–unusual–is just inside the main entrance. She has a limp body in her arms and a desperate look on her face. 

Elspeth is the first to approach, and the genasi pleads, “Help, there was– Their horse–”

“This way,” Elspeth says and leads them to a side room, designed for situations just like these. There’s a small window, a low cot, and a cabinet with all sorts of medical supplies and spell components. Elspeth pats the cot. “Here, lay them here.”

The genasi complies. She transfers them to the cot with such ginger movements–this is someone very important to her, someone she loves. Once her charge is out of her arms, she backs up and presses a hand to her mouth. Her expression reminds Elspeth of Kishore–the helpless worry that comes when she wants to heal a hurt she doesn’t know how to touch.

“It’s alright,” Elspeth assures her, and she smiles. Then, she turns to the cot and… Ah, they were thrown from a horse. That’s what the genasi was trying to explain. Broken bones, internal bleeding–her hands hover over their body, tendrils of healing finding each and every hurt, cataloging the bad and the worse.

Elspeth isn’t sure how they’re still breathing, but she whispers a prayer to Bahamut to keep them alive. Healing bodies as broken as this one… sometimes, no matter how much of herself she pours into them, sometimes it doesn’t work. 

She doesn’t look at the genasi, but she asks, “What is their name?”

“Kestrel.”

Elspeth nods. She studies Kestrel’s face. Judging by the scrapes, cuts, and bruises, they must’ve hit their face at some point during the fall. They were wearing glasses, if the cut on the bridge of their nose is an indicator.

They look mostly human, but the point in their ears isn’t quite the same as an elf’s. Their hair is long and fades from blue to white. Maybe it’s dyed, maybe it’s natural. Their skin is a few shades lighter than Elspeth’s.

Hanging from their neck is a leather cord with Ioun’s symbol on it.

Elspeth leans closer to get a better look at the pendant, and she casts a shadow over Kestrel. A faint, silvery halo appears around their head in the dimmed light. She gasps and turns to the genasi. Her eyes are wide as saucers.

The woman straightens, as if standing at attention. “Is he–?” She can’t finish the question, and braces for the worst.

“No, no, they’ll be fine,” Elspeth says, and hopes she isn’t lying. She clears her throat and explains, “They have a halo.”

“Oh, yes. He’s an aasimar.”

Also unusual. It’s not often that Elspeth encounters anyone with celestial blood. Aritian doesn’t count. She’s known him since she was fifteen.

She takes a deep breath and rests her hands on Kestrel, one at the center of their chest, the other on their forehead. Her hand passes through the halo, like it’s an illusion. If Kestrel lives, she’ll have questions.

Eyes closed, mind quiet. “You are in the house of the Platinum Dragon, protector of those in need,” she says. “You are safe here, I promise.” In the next moment, she taps into that warm font of power–god-given, affectionate, stern–and begins to heal the worst of Kestrel’s injuries.

If the genasi says anything or moves, Elspeth isn’t aware of it. She feels Kestrel’s heart, faltering in their chest, and the air in her own lungs. Her heartbeat is strong and as she heals them, she imagines that she’s pulling at their heart, coaxing it to match her own.

Bones snap back into place, not all of them fully whole, but set. Wounds close from the inside out. Kestrel’s breath goes from ragged and halting to softly eased. The bruises and scrapes stay because Elspeth uses the last of her might to drain away the near-blinding headache Kestrel would’ve woken up to.

She sits back on her heels, drained but in a good way. Kestrel looks better, so much better, and Elspeth knows they’ll live to see another day. The genasi sits beside her, and takes Kestrel’s hand. 

Elspeth nods and says, “They’ll be alright.”

“Thank you,” she says, voice trembling.

There’s still more to be done–bracing the bones still mending, cleaning the cuts and scrapes that remain, using salves on the bruises that remain–but Elspeth takes a moment. Her hand tightens around the holy symbol hanging from her neck.

* * *

**Gratitude**

The genasi’s name is Koravai Fen. She’s the personal guard of Kestrel Grimshaw, the only child of Lord Gavriel Grimshaw. The Grimshaws are known for their diplomacy and close ties with the city’s leaders. Beyond that, they seem to keep to themselves.

Incidentally, Emery has a couple friends in the guard who are Koravai’s niece and nephew. Elspeth has never met these friends, and kind of resents Emery for never mentioning that they’re genasi. It’s interesting! She likes meeting different people! It’s not weird! 

The only weird thing is how Emery leaves out all the best details when talking about people!

Anyway, Elspeth hears all about Koravai Fen secondhand. Kestrel was still unconscious when Elspeth left the temple for home. She comes back the next day; Koravai and her charge are already gone.

Gilana gives her the details, though, and commends Elspeth’s work. “Expect a letter or something of the like from the Grimshaw estate,” she adds.

“Do I reply to this letter?” Elspeth asks. 

The Platinum Dragon is the patron of nobility, but Elspeth isn’t very familiar with all the etiquette of the upper class. The nobles who come into the temple are lucky that she can use their proper titles without messing up. It’s hard to not see people as just people, especially when she knows their names and bits of their history. How much money or power they have doesn’t matter much to her.

She’s a cleric of Bahamut–she’ll always be richer than anyone with only material goods.

Gilana nods. “And should you be invited to the Grimshaw estate, I suggest you accept unless you have a very good reason not to.”

“I don’t see why I would turn them down.” Elspeth shrugs. “I’d love to get to know the Grimshaws better. They stay out of the public eye, from what I understand, and don’t get caught up in all the posturing and drama that their peers often do.”

“Then you know to behave yourself.”

Elspeth grins.

“I do not appreciate that look on your face,” Gilana tuts.

“That’s why I make it.” Her grin fades, and she says, “Don’t worry, I’ll be respectable.”

—

There is no letter from the Grimshaw Estate.

Three days pass, then four, then five. Elspeth doesn’t particularly notice, caught up in her duties at the temple. She doesn’t have time to resent people who don’t thank her. Not everyone is in a place where they can appreciate the help they’ve received. Elspeth understands. She knows that the world is harder on some people than it is on others.

She lights the braziers that line the halls of the sanctum. Usually the newer acolytes perform duties like this, but Elspeth sometimes volunteers for the simpler tasks. There’s comfort here, in lighting the beacons within Bahamut’s house. There are plenty of magical lights that float along the vaulted ceilings, but there’s a special symbolism in fire, especially as night falls.

The simplicity reminds her of the first few times she visited the temple. When she was first given a lighting stick and told to brighten the room, her hands shook. Excitement, fear, relief. A deep sense of comfort, one she never expected, settled into her. Soon, her hands stopped shaking, and it wasn’t long after that she knew she belonged to the Platinum Dragon.

His wings enfold her–protective, paternal, proud. She hasn’t always made him proud. Getting to where she is now wasn’t an easy road.

This time of the evening, the temple is quiet, so it’s easy for her to catch the echo of voices near the entrance.

“Excuse me,” someone speaks, voice a little rough, like they’re getting over having a sore throat.

One of the other acolytes replies, a smile in her tone. “Hello! Welcome!”

“I’m looking for Elspeth Briar.” There’s a fragility to the sentence, shy but not quite. “Do you know if she’s here?”

Elspeth stays on task. She moves to the next brazier. 

The acolyte says something along the lines of, “Oh, yes, she’s just through those columns there.” They likely add, “She’s the tall one with purple hair. You can’t possibly miss her.” And they aren’t wrong.

She pretends she doesn’t hear the voices, or the soft footfalls that approach.

“Ahem.” 

She turns, about to fake some semblance of surprise, but the facade breaks into truth. “Kestrel,” she says, uncertain. It’s one thing to treat an unconscious body, another to see them up and about, with awareness and light in their eyes. “Shit, sorry,” she blurts and offers a short bow of her head. “Your Grace.”

Her face twists with concern. “That’s the proper form of address, right?”

Kestrel puts his hands out, palms facing forward, supplicating. “Ah, it is. But you don’t–It’s not necessary.”

Elspeth straightens to her full height, doubly surprised. 

He looks so _real_ , so different from the pale, bleeding person she saw days ago. He’s beautiful, really, now that she has the time to look. Of course he’s beautiful, he’s an aasimar. 

There’s still bruising on his face, and she steps towards him without thinking. His hazel eyes widen, startled. 

“I wasn’t able to fully heal your bruises before,” she explains. “May I?”

He nods.

“Mind taking your glasses off?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” He fumbles to tuck his circular glasses into a pocket on his coat.

He’s not wearing any braces or slings for the bones she didn’t completely mend, which is strange. His eyes close, and he looks as if he’s bracing himself.

“Looks like someone got most of the stuff I missed,” Elspeth comments. Her hands glow with a soft light and she brushes her fingers over the purplish skin around his eye, forehead, and cheek. “They did a good job, I’m glad.”

There’s just enough shadow where they stand–she can see the faint shimmer of his halo. Once the bruises fade, she takes a step back, and the halo is drowned out by firelight.

“Yes. That was me.” He puts his glasses back on and meets her gaze. An eyebrow quirks, self-deprecating. “I forgot to heal the bruises.”

“So your pendant’s not just for show, then,” she says and gestures to Ioun’s symbol hanging from his neck.

“Not for show, no,” he replies, and there’s a curl of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

Elspeth grins and shrugs a bit. “Bruises are pretty easy. You know.”

“No, well yes thank you for that, but I meant before. You saved my life. Thank you.” He’s looking up at her, expression serious and fierce. 

Elspeth realizes that this isn’t a courtesy call–this isn’t someone following protocol. He’s truly, deeply grateful.

“You’re welcome. It’s good to see you’re up and about. Any lasting effects?”

He shakes his head. “No, not at all. You’re a better healer than I am.”

“We all have our specialties.”

“I, um, I should let you get back to your,” he gestures to the handful of unlit braziers, “work. I didn’t intend to take much of your time.”

“Take as much as you’d like. I’m more than happy to talk.”

He clears his throat, but somehow his voice is rougher than it was before. “Before I go, I was wondering if you’d like to come to dinner at my father’s house? He wishes to meet you and thank you in person. I know your actions deserve better than my informality. And tardiness.”

Elspeth blows a raspberry. “I was doing my job. There are other healers here who could’ve done the same, I just happened to get to you first. It was my pleasure to help.”

Kestrel blinks. “R-Regardless, you were the one who saved my life.”

He’s a bit flustered, a charming flush spreading across his cheeks. Elspeth’s almost tempted to step close again, just to see what he’d do. She’s not that cruel, so she smiles instead. “I’d be happy to accept your invitation.”

“Good. I’m glad. Thank you,” he says, nodding. “I’ll let my father know. Does the day after tomorrow work for you?”

“I should be able to swing that. What time do you want me?”

“Six? If that’s alright,” he replies, and the pink on his face is looking a bit more red.

Elspeth nods. Now, her smile is less beatific, and more a satisfied grin. “Of course. I know the address, and I’ll dress to impress.”

“Oh, you don’t need to–”

“I know. I want to anyway.” 

Kestrel smiles. “Of course,” he echos. “I do need to go, but thank you. For your time, among other things.”

“Six o’clock, I’ll be there,” Elspeth says. 

Kestrel nods, and takes a step backwards before turning away. Just before Elspeth returns to her duties, she sees him heave a sigh and press his palms to his cheeks, like he’s checking to see how warm his face is. The sudden slump in his shoulders has her biting back a giggle. 

He’s beautiful, yes, but he’s also unexpectedly cute, too.


	36. Harm (Kishore & Ameya)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all of Kishore's scars are from her enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: mentions of past self-harm

Kishore does what she can to keep others from seeing the scars that cover her skin. She considers it one of her failures as a mother that Ameya knows her scars well enough to say, “This one’s new. Did you get it while fighting the trolls?” 

Her fingertips trace over a mark near the crook of Kishore’s elbow. It’s one if the few scars she has from the acid-filled troll she faced by the road. Kishore nods. “It is.”

“Did it hurt?” Ameya’s voice is a cross between worry and curiosity. Despite being a very flawed parent, Kishore is glad that she hasn’t raised a squeamish child. Or perhaps that’s part of who Ameya is–Rahul is plenty squeamish, and Kishore isn’t sure when or where that began.

“Yes,” Kishore replies.

Ameya’s eyes go even wider than they were, and she asks, “Were you scared?”

“No. If I fall during a fight, I trust my companions to help me get back up,” she explains. “Day is a good healer, and the others often have health potions.”

“I still think Day’s kind of weird, but I like him,” Ameya states.

“We are also kind of weird, sweetheart,” Kishore points out.

“Yeah, I know. Neelam says it a lot.”

A slim smile passes over Kishore’s face. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

Ameya grins, too, bright in a way that she never was when they lived in the mines. Her fingers leave the new scar and ghost over the older, faded ones on Kishore’s forearm. She’s done this dozens of times, and Kishore isn’t sure why, but she suspects they both receive some degree of comfort from the casual contact.

Some of Kishore’s worst scarring is on her upper arms and thighs. The marks there are neat lines of raised skin, evenly spaced and mostly the same length. They aren’t the worst because of the great pain they caused, or fierceness of the enemies that dealt them. She considers them the worst because she did them to herself. They’re some of her oldest scars, dating from her early adolescence.

At the time she didn’t understand her actions, didn’t understand why she needed to hurt herself, when there were so many others willing to cause her pain. She understands better now.

Still, those scars aren’t something she wants to explain, least of all to her daughter. As with so many things, when Ameya is older, she will know. 


	37. Everyone (Kishore & Venu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore has a mother again

Kishore can’t stop crying. Her mother brushes her hair back and fills the quiet with soothing words, never once alarmed by her most stoic child breaking.

“You took care of all of us, didn’t you?” Venu comments.

Kishore chokes on her reply. “I tried. I tried. But you–”

“Shh, I’m here, sweetheart.”

That statement sends Kishore into another outburst. Venu hugs her close, and rocks her back and forth. “Everything is alright. It’s alright.”

—

Venu stands on shaky legs, but doesn’t fall because Kishore is there. They get as far as the dinner table before Venu has to sit again. Kishore isn’t actively sobbing anymore, but her face is wet and she has to keep blinking back tears.

She sits in the chair beside her mother, unwilling to let go of her hands. Venu takes in the room; Kishore now remembers that Meera got her eyes from their mother–she can see the resemblance again. Blue eyes, pale and knowing.

“Is that everyone?” Venu asks. She focuses on Ameya’s drawing, pinned to the wall by the window.

“Yes. Ameya made it for you,” Kishore says. “She wanted it posted there, for you to see.”

“I’ll have to thank her. Can you bring it closer?”

Kishore stands and unpins the drawing. She lays it out on the table. “Meera, Rahul, Neelam, myself, you and Ameya,” she points to everyone.

“What’s wrong with Rahul’s nose?” Venu wonders.

“I’ll let you ask Ameya that.” Kishore’s fingers brush the edge of the paper, and she takes in the people Ameya’s drawn. She lifts her head to find her mother’s eyes on her. “What is it?”

Venu’s hand shakes; she rests her palm on Kishore’s cheek. “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-eight.”

Something flickers in Venu’s eyes. Her hand drops to Kishore’s shoulder. “Has it been that long?” 

Kishore nods, throat tight.

Venu takes a deep breath, and turns her attention back to the drawing. “There are people here I don’t know.”

“Elspeth and Emery are there,” Kishore manages to say, pointing to their faces. “That’s Hope. He helped us escape, and we traveled together for a time. He’s… He was unexpected, but I’m glad to have him with us.”

“Does he actually have wings?”

“He’s a tiefling,” Kishore explains.

“Ah.”

“And there’s Gwen, Neelam’s friend. She’s a druid. Shy. There have been some issues with the groves in the area, so she’s staying with us,” she says.

And with just a few nudges from Venu, Kishore is telling her everything. She tells her about the last eight years, about the last six months, about their family, about the new people in her life, her friends, the city, even as it seems to be falling apart–everything. 

Kishore isn’t a storyteller, never has been, but her mother listens, eyes bright and understanding. She keeps a firm grip on Kishore’s hands, anchoring them both.


	38. Sending (Elspeth & Ensemble)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elspeth uses her sending and message spells quite liberally

> Meera, done with my deliveries early. Coming home now. Want me to grab anything from the market?

> You’re using your god-given powers for errands? Okay, whatever. Eggs, bread, preserves, you pick flavor, and soap that doesn’t smell like fake vanilla? Thanks.

—

“Have you ever used sending to talk to Mom?” Emery asks, voice hesitant, edging into awkward. 

It’s late. Elspeth’s trying to sleep, but it’s so rare that Em interrupts her at night. She can’t bring herself to be mad or annoyed.

She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t. The less she knows about us right now, the better. Both for us and for her. I don’t want to risk it.”

Relief washes over Emery’s face, and he nods in approval.

—

> Rahul, look alive! Heading to the shop with lunch! Don’t worry, Meera made enough for Rila and Joseph, too. See you soon!

—

> Hope! It’s Elspeth! I’m using a spell to talk. Not sure where you are, but we moved. Now living at Von Newman estate! Love you!

—

Elspeth directs her message up the stairs and into Meera’s room. “Psst, if I come talk to you, will you open the door?”

There’s a pause, heavy with tension. Gods, everything is so full of tension these days, between the war and the drama within her own family. Elspeth missed when the drama was all mindless, like poking fun at Rahul for his obvious crush on Rila.

Meera replies, “Depends.”

That’s a non-answer if Elspeth’s ever heard one. She sends another message. “I’m coming up. Feel free to lock the door if you really don’t want me bothering you.”

She can practically hear Meera sigh. “Fine.”

—

> Harun, it’s me. I left my bag in your room, I think? Leave your window open, please, I’m coming to get it! Thanks, sorry, thanks!

—

> Gabriel, it’s Elspeth again. This is your periodic check-in. Still alive? I always ask Bahamut to keep you safe. Emery sends his love.

> Hey, Pipsqueak. Doing fine. Heard about Margrave, things at a standstill here. Not sure what’s next. Tell Em I’m whole and hale. Love him, too.

—

While Venu’s children gather around her, Elspeth stands back and sends a quick message to Kishore: “I told you she’d come back to you.”

Kishore’s eyes snap to hers, startled by the whisper that only she can hear. Tears stand in her eyes, and Elspeth isn’t sure she’s ever seen Kishore cry. Close to tears maybe once, but not like this. Not like she’s been crying and could easily start again. 

It makes Elspeth feel both older and younger than she really is. Kishore is the closest thing she has to a parent right now, even if she fills more of an older sister role. Still, to see her affected like she’s been the last few days… Elspeth realizes that there isn’t an end to growth or learning or struggle. Life is a series of people and situations and feelings to overcome or withstand.

Elspeth would bet money that Kishore learned her resilience from Venu. 

Kishore smiles, expression soft. It’s the cleanest, most earnest smile Elspeth’s ever seen on her face. “You did,” she whispers back. “You were right."


	39. Chat (Elspeth & Meera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, because Kishore agreed to talk to Emery about Elspeth leaving, Elspeth takes it upon herself to figure out why Meera's so mad at Kishore

Elspeth directs her message up the stairs and into Meera’s room. “Psst, if I come talk to you, will you open the door?”

There’s a pause, heavy with tension. Gods, everything is so full of tension these days, between the war and the drama within her own family. Elspeth missed when the drama was all mindless, like poking fun at Rahul for his obvious crush on Rila.

Meera replies, “Depends.”

That’s a non-answer if Elspeth’s ever heard one. She sends another message. “I’m coming up. Feel free to lock the door if you really don’t want me bothering you.”

She can practically hear Meera sigh. “Fine.”

—

“So, you’re mad at Kishore,” Elspeth states and flops backwards onto Meera’s bed.

Meera is brooding at the window. Elspeth wonders if being angsty while starting out windows is a goliath thing or a goliaths-in-her-life thing. Maybe it’s an ex-cultist thing, since Emery is pretty good at being moody near panes of glass, too.

Meera’s shoulders hike up at Elspeth’s words. “I’m not–” she says, and cuts herself off. Heaves a defeated sigh. “Yes, fine. I’m mad at her.”

“Why?”

Meera doesn’t reply.

Elspeth wiggles a bit so she’s sprawled in a more comfortable position. Her eyes trace the small cracks in the ceiling’s plaster. “She either did something or didn’t do something. This doesn’t have anything to do with her staying in Westruun, does it?”

“No.”

“Is it something she can change? Like, is she not fixing what could be fixed? That doesn’t sound like her.”

“She’s not who I thought she was,” Meera bites out, harsh.

“That’s a weird statement. You’ve known her your whole life.” Elspeth turns her head; Meera’s pacing in front of the fireplace. “Do you _not_ want her to stay? I thought that was a good thing?”

“I do. It is good,” she says, and her feet stall. “Without telling you exactly what she told me, I don’t know how to explain myself.”

“She’s probably going to tell the rest of us eventually.”

Meera gives her a suspicious look, but then relents. “She was going to join the cult like our father did,” she starts, and then divulges the whole sordid business.

Elspeth sits up halfway through Meera’s words. Ice and acid gathers inside her, sickness and fear. A deep ache expands in her chest, too, hurting for hurts already felt.

Once done, Meera slumps down besides Elspeth, like a puppet with cut strings. After a deep breath, she says, “I don’t know what to feel or think.”

“It’s a lot,” Elspeth says. “I can see why you’re upset.” Her words are stupid and empty, so she tries again. “She didn’t choose the cult, though. She chose her family. That was a dangerous decision, right? And it’s not like any of us went unpunished if we deviated even just a little bit from what the council wanted.”

“What was she thinking, making a deal like that?” Meera’s head is in her hands.

“Did you ask her?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should? Like, it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? But if you want to understand, maybe you should know what caused her actions,” Elspeth says with a shrug. “She’d tell you if you ask.”

“I know.”

“And you said she didn’t realize what was really happening, right? So, she must be feeling pretty bad, too,” Elspeth reflects. “I didn’t know your mom well, but I know the rest of you, and you’re all pretty amazing. Your mom had a lot to do with that.” 

To be honest, Elspeth doesn’t actually know what she’s saying anymore, but Meera isn’t telling her to be quiet, so she keeps going. Following her instincts hasn’t led her astray yet.

“You lost two people at once,” she says, and Meera’s breath hitches. “And you didn’t know why until now. It’s not Kishore’s fault, but it looks and feels that way.”

Meera’s mouth pulls into a half-snarl. “She chose to try and abandon us. She chose to keep Ameya. How is not her fault?”

“Okay, okay.” Elspeth puts her hands up to try and ward off Meera’s ire. “It’s a messy, difficult situation with lots of parts. You were… The miners were slaves. What choices did you ever actually get to make? Emery and I were pressured into lots of things, and our mom is well-respected by the cult leaders. I can’t imagine what it was like for the rest of you, without connections or any sort of influence.”

“Kishore did her best to protect us,” Meera says, voice low, her words almost like an afterthought. “Always.”

“Exactly. She’s been focused on that for as long as I’ve known her.” A thought crosses her mind, and she already knows the answer, but she asks, “Are you mad she kept Ameya?”

“No, of course not! I love Ameya, and I just–” She shakes her head.

“Just what?”

“Being angry is easier than being sad. I just need to be angry because I don’t want to be anything else.”

“You could be forgiving. Skip over being sad right now, and try to–” Elspeth gestures, abstract– “come to terms with what’s happened. You love Kishore, and she loves you, and that’s important. More important than being mad at her.”

“I can’t ignore–”

“Don’t ignore,” Elspeth says. “Accept what’s happened. You can’t change it or make it better, and neither can Kishore. I’m not saying that love will erase all the pain or whatever. It can’t do that, but it’s important. Compassion is important, both for you and for her.

“You’re both hurt. Maybe help each other through that hurt?”

Meera blinks at Elspeth, like she’s irritated or possibly concussed. Emery had a concussion once and he was super dumb until his brains unscambled. Elspeth didn’t see Meera hit her head on anything recently, so it’s probably not that. 

“What?” Elspeth squawks. “What’s that look for?” 

“Where is all this coming from?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m so used to you being insufferable,” Meera says. “Always poking and prodding and getting into everyone’s business.”

From anyone else, being called insufferable would sting. From Meera, it feels like a term of endearment. “I still do that.”

Meera snorts.

Elspeth leans back on her hands. “I talk to people at the temple a lot. Regular people and other acolytes. It’s a busy place. People often show up with their problems, looking for relief. Sometimes I can help with a spell.” She shrugs. “Sometimes I can’t, so I ask myself, ‘What would Kishore say?’ and ‘What would Bahamut want?’ That helps me figure out what to do.”

“You’ve grown a lot,” Meera comments.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Elspeth admits. “Do you think I’ll get any taller?”

Meera rolls her eyes. “I guess it’s possible. When do half-elves stop growing?”

Elspeth makes an ‘I don’t know’ sound, and falls back onto the bed. 

Meera joins her, and heaves a long sigh. “You’re right. About how I shouldn’t be so angry. About how we should support each other. You’re right.”

Elspeth preens. “I know.”

“And now you’ve ruined it.”

“I know that, too.”

“Ugh."


	40. Future (Kishore & Ensemble)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If she wasn't already awake, Kishore would think this a nightmare

Kishore is already awake when the voice booms across Westruun, warning of the oncoming Ravager threat. Kishore is awake and staring out her window. She blinks, and a familiar figure is on the roof of a nearby building. There’s a flash of light, lightning, that reveals Thea, dark clothes painted slick with blood.

Thea stands still for a heartbeat and it’s too dark and she’s too far away, but it feels like their eyes meet. Then, she dissolves into shadow. 

“Mom?” Ameya’s voice is small. 

Across the room, Rahul’s already sitting up. He throws off his blankets and puts his feet on the floor. Kishore feels his expectant gaze on her, and she doesn’t know what to say or do.

She gestures for Ameya to come closer, and she cradles her in her arms, holding tight. Rahul gets up and sits by Kishore. Soon enough, the door opens and everyone else filters into the room. It’s quiet, except for the distant rumble of thunder in the distance.

Neelam squeezes herself between Kishore and Rahul, and the others follow suit, finding different places on the bed. It’s a mess and the bed isn’t nearly big enough, but overlapping limbs is the least of their problems.

There’s a thick tension over everyone, like a collective held breath.

Kishore clears her throat. “Nothing is set in stone. Fate and destiny are more like guidelines, and flimsy ones at that.”

“Kishore?” Meera questions.

“Barnock, the dwarf we helped in Kraghammer, had many abilities and gifts. They came at a cost, but he was powerful,” Kishore continues. “He could see the… fabric of time. He could read the strands, and see potential futures.

“He offered to show each of us a vision. I accepted.”

“What did you see?” Meera asks.

“A farmhouse in the country,” she admits. “I saw myself, older. And, Ameya, I saw you.”

Ameya looks up at her, eyes shining. “I was there?”

“Yes. You were an adult, and you had your own child. A baby,” Kishore says. “Both of you looked happy.”

Elspeth asks, “What about the rest of us?”

“The vision was short, but I can only imagine that you all had a place somewhere in that house.” Kishore squeezes her eyes shut. “I have to believe that future is still possible. If there’s even a fraction of a chance that it will come true, I’ll do everything I can to make sure we get there.”

“We’ll help, too,” Elspeth says. A murmur of agreement follows her. “We’ll get there together.”

Kishore’s next words catch in her throat, and she cannot speak.


	41. Heir (Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having an active cultist for a mother can lead to awkward situations

The new margrave is close to her in age. His expression is pale and wooden, eyes downcast. The general’s voice dwarfs the boy’s very presence; it’s obvious who truly has power in this room. Margrave is a title that doesn’t fit the person holding it. He’s not ready to be in this position, and even if he was–

Panic lances through Elspeth’s chest, sharp, and she’s winded with the realization: Her mother killed the margrave’s parents. He’s an orphan because of her mother. The boy sitting _there_ , at the end of the table, he doesn’t have a family because _her mother killed them_. 

She’s ashamed at her foolishness, so caught up in being surrounded by such important people, she just didn’t make the connection. Kishore told her and Emery the truth, but _seeing_ that truth is enough to make her want to leave the room. It’s enough to make her never want to show her face in public again.

Despite everything her mother is, and everything she’s done, Elspeth knows that she still loves her children. Elspeth wishes that meant more, especially when the fallout of Thea’s actions ruin people who’ve done nothing. It feels wrong that Elspeth was rescued from the circumstances of her birth, while the new margrave was condemned.

He doesn’t get freedom or rescue. He doesn’t have anything except a city on the edge of doom and a crown too big for his head.

Elspeth closes her eyes for a half-moment, and prays for forgiveness, even if it’s not her fault. She prays that the people in this room will survive whatever comes next. She prays that her mother stays far away from Westruun.


	42. War (Kishore & Emery, Emery/Gabriel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore thinks well of Emery’s boyfriend, which leads to a bit of a paradigm shift for her

The first night back in Westruun, Kishore is so distracted by Hope’s departure, that she nearly doesn’t notice Emery’s unrest. He doesn’t speak much at dinner, but that isn’t too unusual for him. 

He leaves the table, having barely touched his food. That, Kishore takes note. Meera gives her a look, one that translates to, “Go after him; he won’t tell you things on his own.”

So, Kishore follows. She ascends the stairs, feeling everyone’s eyes on her back. Despite the urge to turn around and ask the others for details, she knocks on the door of the room he shares with Elspeth. There’s a long pause before he says, “Come in.”

He’s standing at the window that’s flanked by his and Elspeth’s beds. His fingertips rest against the sill. The view from this window isn’t great–just the brick wall of the next closest building–but it’s better than what they had just six months ago. Emery’s shoulders curve inwards, as if bearing a great weight.

Kishore sits on the edge of his bed; Elspeth’s bed is a mess of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals. Emery’s bed is neatly made, with crisp sheets and sharp folds. When he doesn’t speak, Kishore shifts so she can sit cross-legged. Her eyes close, and she tries to fall into a meditative mindset.

“Is Hope going to be sent to the neutral zone once he comes back?” Emery asks. There’s a rasping quality to his voice; he was crying at some point in the last few hours, Kishore realizes. While both Emery and Elspeth are quick to tears, only Elspeth is quick to laughter. Emery struggles. He’s struggled for almost as long as she’s known him.

“I don’t know. I doubt the gun corp would tell me anything if I asked,” she says.

Emery looks over his shoulder at her. His blue eyes are red-rimmed. The sorrow on his face echoes the gnawing ache in Kishore’s bones.

“What happened?” she asks.

“Gabriel was sent to the front lines,” he croaks. “I wanted to go with him, but my superiors said I’m not ready yet.” The last words are torn from him, like he hates to say them, but can’t argue that they’re true.

When Kishore met Gabriel for the first time, it was during a dinner at the nearby tavern. Emery was jittery with poorly-concealed nerves on the walk over, and it took Kishore a few moments to realized that he wanted her approval. She was the first person in their family to meet Gabriel as Emery’s boyfriend, and it was obvious that Emery wanted everything to go well.

“Do you trust him?” Kishore asked just before they entered the tavern.

Emery nodded. “With my life. He’s… He’s so _good_ , Kishore.”

That made her press a kiss to the top of his head. “Then I’m glad,” she said against his hair, and she felt more than saw the tension bleed out of him.

Kishore is slow to trust. This will likely always be the case. But it didn’t take her long to warm up to Gabriel, and Emery’s endorsement had little to do with it. She could see the way Gabriel looked at Emery, and the way Emery looked at him–all fondness and wonder and pleased bafflement. 

“Emery’s talked about you a lot,” Gabriel greeted her with an honest smile. There was kindness in his dark eyes. “I’m glad to put a face to the name.”

Kishore was more than a little charmed by his excitement to meet her. He seemed like a good man, and if he’s been sent to the front lines, then Westruun is lesser for it.

Emery’s breath rushes out of him, and he looks back out the window. “I’m afraid,” he tells Kishore. “I’m afraid I’m not going to see him again.”

Kishore stands and wraps her arms around him. He slumps against her, face buried in her shirt. A shudder goes through his body, and she holds him tighter.

“Emery,” she says, soft. The next words stick to her tongue. She can’t make promises, can’t tell him that everything will be alright. There are no guarantees, not even in peacetime. “I’m sorry,” is all she can offer.

Or is it? She takes his shoulders and pushes him far enough away to meet his eyes. “If Hope is sent to the neutral zone, I’m going with him. That was always my plan. If we go, I’ll look for Gabriel,” she says. “I’ll try to make sure he’s safe, or as safe as he can be.”

Emery bites at his lips, tears welling in his eyes. He nods, and mouths, “Thank you,” unable to speak aloud.

She tugs him close again, and runs her hand up and down his back. Beneath her palm, his lungs expand and contract in an uneven rhythm. Her promise is a paltry one, with too many what-ifs and maybes. It’s a promise that goes against her core tenants, but that doesn’t seem to matter. The pillars of her soul are willing to crumble for the sake of her loved ones.

Kishore once believed that freedom meant never getting involved. She took Sword jobs merely for pay; don’t get attached or invested, she told herself.

It was naive to think that way. She’s already involved. She was involved as soon as she stepped foot outside for the first time. The truth chills her, like a night frost settling over her skin, not cold enough to burn, but present and real. 

Her worldview begins to shift, and after months of changes and challenges, she hopes something good can come from all this.


	43. Distance (Kishore & Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dispelling the ward Thane put in their old house

Death and distance are very different experiences. Yet, there’s still the ache of having someone and then not having them at all. Death is not as surmountable as distance, but Kishore’s fledgling roots tie her here. 

Physically, yes, she can travel as far and wide as she wants. A less responsible person would leave, would travel, would feed that heart-sore longing that grows in direct response to time and space. It’s not in Kishore’s nature to step away from what needs to be done. She isn’t that person, swayed like a unmoored ship, taken by the tides of feeling.

When Elspeth dispels the ward at the threshold of Kishore’s old room, she hesitates. Kishore stands nearby, observing because she feels like she should. Besides, she enjoys seeing how Elspeth has grown as a magic-user. There’s a certain kind of sureness that she exudes when she casts spells. It’s heartening to watch.

Elspeth crouches down by the rug-covered ward. Her hands hover, ready to go through the somatic parts of the spell. She looks up at Kishore. “Are you sure?” she asks.

Kishore blinks. Elspeth isn’t asking if the ward should stay here. She isn’t wondering if it should be left behind to be triggered by whoever moves in next. That isn’t an option.

Elspeth wants to know if Kishore should be here, watching. She won’t say the obvious: Thane was–is–important to Kishore. That he decided to make a safer spot in the house, so she could feel at least a little bit better about leaving her family–it still rattles the soft spots inside her rib cage.

He was needed elsewhere, just as she’s needed here. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever see him again–distance and death create such rifts–and it’s difficult to accept the uncertainty.

Kishore lets the tension in her shoulders ease. “I’m not sure,” she replies. “Thank you.” It’s only been a few days since Venu came back to herself. Kishore is in a fragile, delicate place. As much as she hates it, it’s necessary and unavoidable. Her family seems to know that.

Elspeth takes the rug and holds it out to Kishore. She smiles. “We should bring this with when we move.” Beneath the rug, the edges of the warding rune shimmer slightly in the light.

Kishore takes the rug. It’s simple in make and design–blues and browns in a woven geometric pattern. Simple, yes, but still beautiful, especially to someone who’s never owned colors until recently. She folds it over one of her arms, brings it close to her chest.

She nods at Elspeth, and goes downstairs.


	44. Quintet (Elspeth & Ensemble)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The passing of the torch, at least for now

The next morning, everyone is seated at the table. No one seems too focused on eating, even though Meera made a hearty breakfast. The air is heavy with _something_. It’s not the same sort of tension that’s ruled the house, but it’s uncomfortable anyway. **  
**

Kishore is paler than normal and there are dark, bruise-like marks beneath her eyes. Beside her, Neelam looks like she’s still half asleep, and confused about being upright. Ameya’s on Kishore’s other side, leaning close, almost as if she was a flower, and Kishore the sun.

Gwen is ringing her hands again. She shoots Elspeth a look. And Elspeth isn’t sure what she wants but she starts talking anyway.

“What now?” she asks. “Do you know what’s going to happen to the observatory?”

Kishore is slow to respond. “I don’t know. I’ll leave the details to Aritian and Caius. The Swords will know what to do next.”

Emery blows on his mug of tea and says, “The Shields will be called in, if they haven’t already been. Everything is tense enough as it is, it makes sense to get as many hands to help as possible.”

“You’ll tell us,” Neelam utters, looking up at Kishore. “If it’s safe to go back?”

There’s a long moment of silence, and Rahul sinks down in his seat. He and Meera exchange a glance–why would Neelam want to go back, after what happened last night? Elspeth fights the urge to verbally and loudly question Neelam’s sanity.

Venu begins humming something, and the sound jolts Kishore out of her thoughts.

“I owe you all an apology,” she says. “I should never have left the city. I believed that I could protect you best if I was on the front lines, as it were. I realize my choices were unsustainable.

“Gwen, I apologize for how I told you about the grove in the north. I was insensitive.”

Gwen’s hands stop twisting, and she stares at Kishore, startled into stillness. “W-What? No, it’s fine. It’s okay. I just– It was a shock. I don’t think there’s ever a good way to say things like that.”

Kishore nods, and goes quiet for a heartbeat or two. “I won’t be taking any more jobs from the Swords, at least not in the near future.”

Ameya’s eyes widen. “You’re going to stay?”

“I am.”

Both Meera and Ameya burst into tears.

—

Elspeth manages to find Kishore alone, somehow. After the announcement that she’d be staying, Kishore was more or less swarmed by the rest of the family. There were plenty of fears she had to calm and tears to brush away. But out of everyone, Kishore’s always been the best at handling all that.

It’s nearing noon, and Kishore is on the roof. Perhaps with less grace than she’d like, Elspeth climbs up after her.

“Careful,” Kishore warns and reaches out to take Elspeth’s arm.

“I’m fine,” she replies and flashes a smile.

She sits close and wraps her arms around Kishore’s. As always, Kishore is a strong, warm, sturdy presence.

Clouds drift overhead. Today’s cooler than the last couple days, and Elspeth’s mentor at Bahamut’s Rest warned that it’ll rain this week. Elspeth lets her head thunk against Kishore’s shoulder. She asks, “Do your friends know? About you staying here?”

“Not yet. I was going to give Cihro the bag of holding later today or tomorrow,” she replies.

“Can I go instead?”

“To deliver the bag? I wanted to talk to the others myself–”

“I mean, can I go with them, in your place?”

Kishore stills. “Elspeth.”

“I’ve been working really hard at the temple! I know some spells, really good healing ones. You’ve said so many times that when you’re in the field you’re protecting us,” Elspeth says. “So, let me be there instead?” She meets Kishore’s gaze, and sees fear and love in equal parts. “I want to protect us, too. I want to protect your friends.”

“Do you think you’re ready?”

It’s not an easy question, but Elspeth has an answer. “Yes. I am. I can do this, I can help. Bahamut would want this, more than me being a delivery girl.”

“I do not approve. I don’t like the idea of you facing the things I’ve faced,” Kishore says, voice strained.

“I’ve already seen a lot more than other people my age. I know you lived the worst of it, but I had to watch. It’s not the same, I know that, but I was there, watching, and I couldn’t help then. Not in a way that mattered, you know? I can help _now_.”

Kishore’s eyes narrow. “You’re going to leave regardless of what I say, aren’t you?”

Elspeth ducks her head to hide her wry smile. “Yeah.”

There’s a soft pressure to the crown of her head–one of Kishore’s kisses. Elspeth presses into it.

“You will come back to us,” Kishore says. “You must.”

Elspeth grins. “I won’t disappoint. I’ll be back before you know it, and this time, I’ll be the one with stories!”

Kishore lets out a soft sigh. “Let’s get you prepared, then. I have supplies you and the others will need.”

“Thank you.”

Kishore nods, and for a moment, Elspeth sees the heartbreak on her face. She pretends she didn’t.

—

There about as many tabaxi in Westruun as there are goliaths. So, not many. Maybe that’s how Elspeth and Harun fell in together in the first place–once she explained her family to him, Harun lost the frostiness he maintains around humans and elves. 

He once told her, “You don’t make assumptions based on appearances.”

Which is completely untrue–Elspeth assumes a lot of things based on what people look like, but she’s always looking for ways to prove or disprove those assumptions. She likes people, regardless of race, because they’re interesting and complex.

Harun’s a couple years older than her, though he acts like he’s ancient sometimes. His fur is grey and stripped, which adds to his wizened persona. But he’s fast, since he works for the same courier service as Elspeth. He joined just a few months before she did, and they’ve spent a lot of time exploring and getting to know the city together.

Before dinner, Elspeth slips out of the house; Kishore watches her go. Her expression is unreadable. She doesn’t try to stop her.

She heads to the market district, where Harun’s parents run a small haberdashery. They live in the apartment above the shop, and from the street she sees that Harun’s window is open. Elspeth finds a small pebble and lobs it inside; a startled yowl lets her know that he’s home.

Harun’s furred head peeks out, ears flat to his skull. He scans the ground, twitchy, likely expecting another volley, until he sees Elspeth. His posture loosens and he rests his elbows on the sill. In the slanting, late afternoon light, his eyes flash yellow. There’s a snarl pulling at his lip; he glares down at her.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she says. “Can you come down?”

He disappears, and a few moments later reappears at the shop’s side door. “Why must you throw stones?”

They fall into step, wandering through less crowded lanes. “Did I hit you?”

“No, but you may have.”

Elspeth rolls her eyes. “Oh no, if only I could control my strength and power. You could’ve been mortally wounded by a pebble–”

“What is it you want?” he cuts her off to ask. “Mother will expect me home for dinner.”

She takes a deep breath, and explains what she’s going to do. Harun listens, quiet.

“I don’t know if I’m gonna be leaving the city or not, and I don’t want people to worry too much either way. You’ll let everyone know what I’m up to?” she asks.

Harun chuffs. “For you, yes. If Wren cries on me, I will demand compensation.”

“They’re not gonna cry on you. They probably won’t even notice I’m gone.”

His golden eyes narrow. “You underestimate your presence in the lives of others, I think. That is unlike you–never once have you questioned your worth. Why now?”

Elspeth chews on her bottom lip. Drat, she’s almost out of lip balm. There are so many things she needs to remember to pack, just in case. Maybe she can borrow some from Meera? “It’s going to be different. For me, for everyone else.”

“It is what you want.”

“Yeah.”

“Then different is good. Don’t forget your truths,” he says with a rolling, purr-like sound. “Your god would not like that, I suspect.”

“He wouldn’t, and I won’t.”

Harun smiles, and gives her a slow, languid blink. When they first became friends, she thought the slow blink was a flirting thing, but she knows better now. It’s a tabaxi thing, showing care and trust. She slow blinks back at him.

“Your life will still be here, should you chose to return to it,” he tells her.

“I know. Thank you.”

He presses his forehead against hers–another tabaxi thing. In an understated way, he’s marking her as his own, as part of his life, more like family than property. He didn’t start doing that until about a month ago, and it still thrills Elspeth down to her toes that she is loved by people outside of her family.

—

In the dying light, Bahamut’s Rest is painted in burnished golds and reds. This is her favorite time to visit the temple–right as the sun slips beyond the horizon. The temple ward is pretty empty, too, which means Elspeth can meander a bit and not worry about being in the way. 

The temple doors are never locked. She steps inside and a ember-like glow fills her heart. She belongs here.

Inside the temple is well-lit with candles and magical lights that float among the vaulted ceilings. Elspeth moves past the atrium, through the nave, and straight to the main altar, where the Platinum Dragon’s statue stands. What’s left of daylight filters through the stained glass windows, painting the otherwise monochromatic stonework in splashes of rainbow colors.

There are other acolytes and priests in the area, some sitting in quiet reflection, some lighting more candles as night encroaches. She exchanges friendly nods with a few devotees, but doesn’t stop to chat. 

Elspeth kneels at the altar. She doesn’t duck her head or close her eyes; she stares at Bahamut’s likeness, and imagines it’s a conduit between her and her god. Warmth washes over her, and she smiles. He’s listening to her. He always does.

“By scale and wing, by talon and flame,” she murmurs. “I won’t let you down.”

Someone hovers nearby, behind her a few paces. The shifting of robes and soft-soled shoes on granite tell Elspeth all she needs to know. She stands and turns. “Gilana,” she greets her mentor.

For a gnome, Gilana Fiddlecraig is actually quite tall, and she carries her height with all the dignity expected of one of Bahamut’s clerics. Her hair is the color of hearth-flames, shorn short, and her eyes are dark and kind. If it weren’t for Gilana, Elspeth might not have come back to the temple after her first visit. If it weren’t for Gilana, she would’ve never gotten to know the Platinum Dragon. 

“Elspeth, my girl,” she hums and comes to stand beside her. “I didn’t expect you this evening.”

Together, they look up at Bahamut’s statue. Elspeth speaks, “Kishore isn’t going to be working with the Swords anymore.”

“Is that so?” Gilana’s eyebrow quirks.

“I don’t know how much you’ve heard about the observatory–”

Gilana’s lips thin and she says, “I’ve heard enough to be concerned.”

“Neelam was involved. Kishore blames herself for not being in the city, to protect her,” Elspeth explains. “And even though she was around when Meera was taken, I think she somehow blames herself for that, too. Everything has to be her burden, you know?”

“So she’s staying. For how long?”

“I don’t know.” Elspeth shrugs. “For longer than she has in the last few months, I guess?”

“Walk with me.” Gilana tugs on her sleeve and leads her down a short hallway that opens into the cloisters. The open-air corridors surround a simple garden, where the acolytes grow various spell components. 

Elspeth watches her step, careful not to outpace Gilana’s shorter legs.

“What else?” Gilana prods.

“I’m going to go instead of her,” Elspeth says. “For her, I mean. The work she’s done for the Swords is important, and I want to help. She isn’t happy about it, of course she isn’t, but she respects my choices.”

Gilana nods and doesn’t say anything for a minute or two. She pauses at one of the entrances to the garden, and her eyes go to the purpling sky. Dim clouds amass in the east, rolling inland.

“You’re not going to try to stop me, are you?” Elspeth wonders, voice small.

“The Platinum Dragon is giving you an opportunity.”

“I know.”

Gilana smiles, and there’s a spark in her eyes. “I have something for you. From the temple, from myself.”

“What–?”

Gilana’s already off, quickly enough that Elspeth has to rush to keep up. They head down a set of stairs near the chapter house, and enter the vaults. Elspeth’s visited the crypts before, where some of the more important disciples rest, but the vaults are off-limits to most people. According to Gilana, the vaults in Westruun are nothing compared to the ones in Vasselheim–anything truly dangerous or vital is sent there.

Still, Elspeth has a squirming feeling, like she’s not meant to be here. “Will the Keeper allow this–?”

“Don’t worry about Simar,” Gilana says, and waves away Elspeth’s concern.

There’s a small side room not too far into the vaults. Gilana unlocks the door and conjures a ball of light to illuminate the room. It doesn’t seem necessary, since both she and Elspeth can see well in the dark, but it’s nice to not be in the dark while underground. Elspeth’s had enough experience with that.

It looks like a storage room; nothing stands out as particularly valuable or rare, until Elspeth’s eyes fall on a shield hanging on the far wall. It’s made from tempered steel, bluish in color. Embossed on the front is an image of Bahamut’s head, forward facing, eyes staring her down. He’s coated in a silver-like metal, making him stand out from the darker steel.

Her feet move without conscious decision, and she touches the edge of the shield. Then, her fingers brush over the space between his horns, and rest at the edge of his jaw. It’s an older image, different from the profile view on her holy symbol, but beautiful all the same.

“It’s yours,” Gilana speaks, pleased notes in her voice.

Elspeth spins around. “What?”

Gilana knocks her knuckles against a breastplate resting on one of the tables. It’s the same blue color as the shield. “This one is yours as well. To keep you safe. Neither Simar nor myself would want to send you off without proper equipment. You will be representing Bahamut, and so you are a symbol of both his grace and his followers.”

Elspeth nods. “I’ll do my best.”

“Yes, you will.”

With careful hands, she takes the shield down and fits it onto her arm. Heavier than she expected, but it feels right. “Thank you. I’ll bring them back.”

“I said they’re yours. A gift.”

Elspeth blinks, and swallows. “You’ll pray for me while I’m gone, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll pray for you, too.”

Gilana smiles.

—

Emery’s awake when Elspeth comes back to their room. It’s not unusual, since he doesn’t actually sleep. He tends to trance sometime after midnight, so he doesn’t have to sit around awake before dawn. Elspeth’s always been a little jealous of the fact that he doesn’t have to rest for more than a few hours. Imagine how much more she’d get done if she slept half as much as she does!

He’s sitting cross-legged on the edge of his bed, chin resting on his hand.

“Hey, Em,” she greets him. She sets her armor and shield down on her bed. They look so strange next to her unkempt blankets and numerous stuffed animals. Oh no, she’s gonna have to choose which ones to pack with her, and which ones will be left behind.

“Kishore said that you’re leaving,” he says, and doesn’t meet her gaze. 

He shouldn’t have heard the news from anyone but her, but she’s the one who didn’t stop and tell him. She just ran off, cart before the horse. “I’m sorry–”

He shakes his head, and pins her with a sharp look. “No, don’t be. Don’t let whatever I’m feeling keep you from doing what you think is right.”

“What are you feeling?” She plops down next to him.

He mulls things over, then says, “I’m scared for you, but proud, too. I want to go with you. I know I can’t, for various reasons. I just never thought I’d have to stay while you go.”

Elspeth scoffs. “Ugh, you are Kishore are so similar. Always wanting to stand between the world and the rest of us. But look,” she says and points to her bed, “I have a shield now.”

He huffs a laugh. “Let’s hope you know how to use it.”

She makes an affronted sound. “Of course I know how to use it!”

“I have something for you,” Emery cuts through her indignation. It’s then that she notes a small, paper-wrapped item in his hand. “It was meant to be your Winter’s Crest gift from me and Rahul, but I think you should have it now.”

“You’re doing Winter’s Crest shopping already? Hmm, I specifically recall _someone_ poking fun at me when I started doing that last month.”

“Supplies are in short demand. As the war drags on, it’ll only get worse,” he says. “I’m getting what I can now.”

“Just admit that I inspired you.”

Emery gives her a look that’s both exasperated and fond. It’s a look she knows very well. “Why can’t it be both?”

“Gimme.” She holds out her hands. He sets the gift in her palm, and she tears the paper off of it, revealing a small box, made from a dark-colored wood. “Aw, you got me a box! Thanks!”

“That joke has never been funny.”

“You laughed the first time I said it.”

“Open the box, please.”

She does as instructed, and her breath rushes from her lungs. Inside is a pair of earrings with teardrop-shaped blue diamonds, set in silver. The diamonds are raw, matching both her scales and the opal she wears at the hollow of her throat. “Oh, wow.”

“I bought the supplies, and Rahul made them,” Emery says.

She immediately pulls out her simple studs and replaces them with the diamonds. They dangle a little bit below her lobes. She strikes a pose. “How do they look?”

Emery nods. “They suit you.”

Elspeth touches them, and can’t dim her smile. “Why give them to me now?”

“You can use them to cast spells,” he tells her. “There was that one spell you haven’t been able to cast in a few months, since you didn’t have a diamond big enough. Now you do.”

“Really?”

Emery nods.

She flings herself at him, hugging him tight. “Thank you so much.”

He hugs her back, tight and fierce. With her face tucked against his shoulder, she’s never felt more ready for whatever comes next.


	45. Talk (Kishore & Emery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore tells Emery that Elspeth is leaving

"Take a walk with me?” Kishore asks Emery.

He frowns, less irritated and more puzzled. “Yeah, sure?”

Elspeth left a few minutes ago to speak with her temple. Now is as good a time as any to break the news. They leave the house, Emery close at her heels. 

Kishore meanders through the Sunset District, taking a circuitous route towards the center of the city. Emery’s eyes keep flickering between her and their path; she doesn’t see his looks as much as she feels them.

“Are we going somewhere in particular?” Emery asks.

Kishore shakes her head.

He steps ahead and blocks her path. “What is it?” he asks. “Is this about my mother?”

“No. When I discuss that, I want both you and Elspeth there.”

“So, what’s going on?”

Kishore sighs. “With me staying in the city, Elspeth will be taking my place among my companions.”

Emery blinks, like he isn’t sure he heard her right. “What?”

“She wants to help the Swords, and will be joining my friends.”

Emery’s face takes on a thunderous air. His throat bobs with a thick swallow. “You’re letting her?”

“I cannot stop her,” she says. “I want to respect her decision, even if I don’t like or agree with it.”

“She might die, Kishore!”

“We might all die, Emery,” she replies, louder than she wants. A quick, steadying breath, and she says, “A lot more people would have died, if it weren’t for the actions of me and my companions.”

“All the more reason for her to stay here. You have experience that she doesn’t,” he argues.

“How will she get that experience, if we don’t let her grow?”

Emery runs his hands through his hair and paces back and forth on the street. “You’re supposed to protect us,” he says, voice weak, barely arguing. “Mom said.”

“I am more than what she taught me, as are you, as is Elspeth,” Kishore says. “Elspeth is making a choice. She’s old enough to make choices for herself. I will not deprive her of that.”

“I want to be angry with you for that,” he admits. “It would be easier.”

A fragile smile curves across her face, fleeting. “I wish this could be easier for you. I don’t like it. I’m not happy with her leaving, but she’ll go with or without my blessings.”

“She would, wouldn’t she?” He laughs. It’s a hollow thing.

“I want her to be as prepared as possible. She should have our support.”

Emery looks up at her, jaw set, and he nods. “You’re right.”

Kishore pauses, caught on a thought. “If you want to go with–”

“No, I can’t. I’m–I’m needed here. Now more than ever,” he says, even though his words are rough and forced. “Don’t give me the idea.”

Kishore rests her hands on his shoulders and kisses the crown of his head. “I’m glad to have you here."


	46. Warning (Kishore & Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore wants Elspeth to be as prepared as possible for whatever comes next

“You can’t trust everyone you meet.”

“I know that, Kishore. I’m not stupid.”

“You’re not,” she agrees. “You also can’t always trust the people around you, even if you’ve fought side-by-side.”

“Okay, so who am I _not_ trusting? You have friends you don’t trust?”

There’s a pause, a quirked eyebrow. “If I don’t trust them, it’s difficult for me to consider them a friend.”

Elspeth nods. That makes sense. “Do you like them at least?”

“Most of the time.”

“But, really, Ki,” Elspeth presses. “Who are the trustworthy ones?”

“Cihro, Day, and Aritian,” Kishore says. “I don’t know Io or Theren well enough to say more, and Caius and William frequently concern me, both with their words and their actions.”

“You said William wanted to use me and Emery as bait for Mom,” Elspeth says. “And you’ve warned me away from Caius before. They’re not actually bad people, are they?” She’s not a fan of being used against her mother, but she can see why someone would consider it.

“I’d like to believe that they aren’t, but I don’t know.” Kishore rests her hands on Elspeth’s shoulders, heavy, almost like she’s steadying herself.

It doesn’t take much effort to lean forward, and wrap her arms around Kishore’s waist. Her voice is muffled by Kishore’s shirt, but she promises, “I’ll be careful."


	47. Knowing (Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has a long way to go

Elspeth refuses to be embarrassed.

If anyone else had tried to talk to her, she wouldn’t have listened. She would’ve railed against whatever well-meaning words were pushed in her direction. Elspeth knows herself, and she knows she isn’t always an easy person, and the things she says or expects or does… those things aren’t always the best for everyone around her.

Pushing for Neelam’s friendship, for example, came from a good place, but Elspeth approached her adoptive sister all wrong. 

Regardless, she listens to Day. He’s right, of course, about grief and how it works in different ways for different people. Elspeth hadn’t even considered the lord was grieving–that he thinks his daughter is dead. She just barreled right through, trampling on the hurt there without even seeing it.

For all the time she’s spend around people, asking questions, learning all she can about others–all she’s done to try and understand people, she keeps coming up short. The more time she spends trying to understand, the more she realizes that she knows _so very little_. 

It doesn’t make her embarrassed, not knowing. It makes her mad.


	48. Messy (Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emon's vampire problem is less of a problem now, but Elspeth feels like she's accomplished very little

There’s succubus goop on her shoes, her fancy shoes, and there’s bodies and ash and blood everywhere else. At least the room is bright? At least there’s that?

She turns a little bit to see the back of her dress–torn and covered in the previously mentioned blood and also something dark that doesn’t look quite like blood. More goop? Something else? Gods, she looks like a mess and feels even worse. Darkness creeps back from her vision; how is she still standing?

Honestly, she doesn’t actually remember getting up. She doesn’t remember falling, either, but there’s a gap in her timeline. Did she almost die? No, she’s fine. She’s standing. Wobbly, but standing.

The vampire is dead, but there’s no relief.

Lady Penelope isn’t here. Only empty coffins and the people she’s supposed to be helping. There’s a stitch in her side and blood matting her hair. A vague malaise fills her, like she’s on the cusp of puking. The sensation of the baron’s fangs against her skin is still there, a sharp spot of cold hovering over her neck.

This isn’t the first time she’s been soaked in another person’s blood and viscera. It’s not the first, and it won’t be the last, but she’s shaking a little bit. A fine tremor, feverish, radiating from her gut outwards. Swallow back that feeling, keep your expression still. Showing pain or fear or uncertainty is dangerous, Mom said so. 

Kishore’s never talked about what it’s like, after a battle, once the enemies are dead and there’s space to feel and think and breathe. Elspeth never asked, but even if she had, it probably wouldn’t help her here and now. Her fingertips tingle with residual sparks, her scales itch with dust and sweat. 

Pounding footsteps rattle the floorboards overhead. City guards are coming. The letter William translates fills her with curdling dread, but for some reason Elspeth is struck with the thought, “Meera’s going to throw a fit when I ask her to clean this dress."


	49. Mindless (Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby Briar's First Kill!!! *confetti emoji*

Caius grabs her sleeve and drags her backwards, away from the tavern, and the gunslinger’s body, and the smell of burning flesh. Away from Theren’s furious eyes and the blood on Aritian’s face. 

She blinks, and then the rough sound of metal on stone fills her ears. The grate to the sewers is gone, dragged away. Elspeth’s hands and feet tremble and slip on the slick metal rungs leading down into the dark. 

Near the bottom, her foot doesn’t catch the next hold right. She expects her stomach to swoop and her heart to seize, but even remembering that there should be a reaction is difficult and distant. Caius steadies her quickly, and she shuffles away from the ladder.

The sewers are dark and rank and Elspeth stares down the tunnel. Her sight only goes so far. She sways, slumps against the wall, and then slides down to sit. Her eyes don’t stray from the path ahead, the chasmal black at the end of her vision.

There’s a dead man not far from here. He’s only dead because she killed him. Her hands have wrought pain and hurt, but never a direct death. Her mother always said it wasn’t her fault–the people they made Elspeth hurt. She had no choice then, and they wouldn’t let her train unless it was against real, living targets.

So far, she hadn’t fallen back into the mindless fugue that ruled her when her mother’s handlers watched. Today was different. Today she slipped, and she was doing so well in staying present and awake.

There’s always a choice, _always no matter what._ Should she have let the gunslinger live? _Could_ she have let him go, knowing he might have turned around and tried to kill them again?

Where holy light once filled her with righteous certainty, there’s just silence.


	50. Enchanted (Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A devil's bargain is no bargain at all

The diviner’s tower feels _wrong_. There’s a cup of pomegranate juice at her spot at the table, along with a bowl of porridge with strawberries and cream. It smells like comfort and home and… The hot pressure behind her eyes threatens to break into tears. She grits her teeth and knocks aside the juice. The purple-red liquid stains the tablecloth. It looks almost like blood.

Only four people in the whole world know about her favorite foods: Emery, Meera, Kishore, and Thea. Apparently, Hallowdust knows now, too. It prickles something beneath Elspeth’s skin, an irritant digging deep. 

Maybe the tower itself is enchanted, maybe Hallowdust has been watching her from a distance since the poker game. Gods above and devils below, Elspeth should never have spoken to her at all. How stupid, thinking there would be more allies in the city than enemies.

Last night, she pushed herself to the very edge of the bubble, as far as she could get from her companions. When William put his hand on her shoulder, when Day and Cihro reached for her sleeve, her wrist, Elspeth flinched away. Shoulders tucked inwards, afraid that the dirty parts of herself will stain other people.

“Don’t touch me,” she says, voice trying to be soft, like an afterthought. Instead, she’s pitchy and defensive. 

“Sorry,” Cihro immediately replies, and takes his hand off her.

There’s a spear of regret, guilt, that goes through her. He’s only trying to look out for her, help her, and out of everyone she knows, he’s one of the few people who will live almost as long as she does. That knowledge hurts.

Why is she even thinking about the future? She doesn’t know if she’s going to live long enough to go home. She misses her family _so much._

She wasn’t lying when she told Assum that she’d die to inconvenience Tiamat. Without question. Elspeth isn’t important. She’s a tool, a cog in a great machine, an iota of curiosity against the machinations of greater people. 

Bahamut chose her, not because she’s more virtuous or pious than other acolytes, but because she knows more than the rest. Evil lived inside her for most of her life, but was banished when she first saw the sun. The memory remains–the creature they tried to shape her into, the goals they tried to indoctrinate. She knows better than the others who frequent Bahamut’s Rest.

The diviner’s tower has more secrets than Elspeth will ever learn. Magic is something she still doesn’t quite understand, though she’s wielded it for as long as she can remember. 

Hallowdust’s offer sounds glorious. To someone scared and unsure, it sounds like something beautiful and worthwhile. Elspeth hears the truth. She hears the rattling of chains between the words, smells the scent of blood among the letters. In Hallowdust’s tone, there is nothing but ruin. It may be a different sort of ruin that Tiamat wreaks, but it’s ruin all the same.


	51. Ash (Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is both the fire and the kindling

The second explosion blows heat and ash into Elspeth’s face. She hurts down to the marrow of her bones; the sting in her eyes is nothing in comparison to the feeling of falling unconscious and then being forced back into wakefulness. Still, she tries to blink away the blurriness in her vision. 

Everything is unstable and battered, but somehow she’s standing.

She takes shallow breaths through her mouth, but can’t escape the seared odor of burning skin and clothes. It’s following her, the burning, eating away at her frayed composure. Blackening, darkening, creeping forward, crumbling remains in its wake.

Her soul is singed, and it’s no one’s fault but her own. Her whole life she tried to keep herself clean, unmarked by Tiamat’s influence. These people have families, friends, hobbies. They feel just as many things as she does, and just as deeply. 

Maybe this was unavoidable. Maybe she was always meant to be this–war-like, death-dealing. A youthful face masking the twisting snakes beneath, always ready to strike with an unassuming venom.

Elspeth doesn’t want to be that person. 

She doesn’t want to deal with absolutes and inevitabilities.


	52. Wild (Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the blue dracolich dies, wounds wait for healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grimtail is best boy griffin

She’s still bleeding. The Blue Scale’s hammer nearly caved in her skull. With probing fingers, she touches the wound, trying to find the places where the damage is worst. Her heart beats a stuttering tattoo, fluttering and struggling inside her ribs.

Grimtail is warm against her back. Despite his almost arrogant expression, he doesn’t seem to mind being sandwiched between Elspeth and Theren. From what Kishore’s told her, Grimtail is _old_. Anything she’s seen, he’s probably seen it, too. 

She flinches and hisses when she finds the tender, open wounds on her head. Her hair is a matted mess; she looked like a wreck after the fight with the vampire. Now, she looks like a wild something, emerging from some ancient treeline. She feels halfway feral, stuck between relief and the leftover fear coursing in her blood.

Shivers wrack her body; she feels feverish.

He’s dead. He tried to kill her. He spoke his dread queen’s name in her presence, like a rallying call against everything she represents. Words came to her mouth, easy rebuttals, mutinous and bold. So much could have been said, but there’s defiance in silence, too. When he had her by the throat, hammer ready for a killing bow, she didn’t waver, didn’t blink. Anything she could have said to him, she’s already said to the Scaled Tyrant.

He wasn’t going to get the satisfaction of hearing her voice waver and break. 

Somehow, stars shine above, visible through the broken roof.


	53. Blame (Ameya & Venu, Kishore & Ameya)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore eavesdrops on a conversation between Ameya and Venu

Kishore wakes when Ameya slips out of bed. She doesn’t move beyond opening her eyes. Ameya leaves their room; she doesn’t shut the door all the way, and faint light from the corridor shines in.

It’s their first night in their new home. Kishore didn’t realize how small their other house was until coming here. There almost seems to be too much space. It’s nice to not have to duck through every doorway, however.

There are more than enough rooms in the estate’s guest house. Technically, the room beside Kishore’s belongs to Ameya, all of her things are there, but she’s never been able to sleep alone. Perhaps someday, when their past is further behind them, she’ll feel safe enough to stay in her own bed.

Kishore doesn’t want to push; she won’t admit it aloud, but she sleeps better when someone else is nearby, too.

She sits up and slowly follows after Ameya. Once in the hall, she spots Ameya creeping into Venu’s room. It strikes her as strange, since Ameya’s been shy around her grandmother. With everything that’s happened in the last few days, Kishore hasn’t yet talked to either of them about it. She’s noticed, though.

Soft voices drift from her mother’s room. Kishore presses her ear close to the door.

Ameya asks, “Is it a good book?”

“Hmm,” Venu muses. “It is a little dry, but informative. There’s a lot for me to catch up on.”

“Neelam reads boring books,” Ameya says. “She says they’ll be more interesting when I’m older, but I don’t think so. I like the stories Mom writes.”

“She mentioned that she writes for you. Do you have a favorite story?”

“Hope and archery competition!” Ameya’s voice spikes in volume, but then she quiets. “But also the fight with the Ravagers at the crossroads. They’re exciting, but in different ways.”

“You’re not afraid to hear about her battles?” Venu wonders.

“No. Mom is really cool and good at fighting,” Ameya reasons. “She said her friends help, too, so even when there’s lots of bad guys, she isn’t alone.”

They fall silent for a few moments, and there’s what sounds to be the scuffing of bare feet on wooden floors. Ameya is waffling about something; even though Kishore can’t see her, she can picture her daughter’s posture. Head down, hands twisting together, lips pursed mulishly. 

“Is your mother awake?” Venu asks.

“No.”

“Do you want me to wake her?”

Kishore almost snorts. Ameya’s never hesitated to wake her up if she needs something. Ameya’s response is perplexed. “Why?”

“I was wondering if you needed something, or are you just visiting me? It’s late,” Venu explains.

“But you were awake!”

Venu sighs. “I know, sweetheart. I’ve had some trouble sleeping through the night. I find that reading helps.”

“Is it my fault?” Ameya’s voice is so small and soft that Kishore barely hears it.

“Why would it be your fault?”

Ameya takes a breath, and it catches, nearly a sob. “I wasn’t supposed to know, but I listened anyway and Mom said she kept me even though the cult people didn’t want her to, so you–”

“Shh,” Venu soothes. “I know what I did. What _they_ did. You shouldn’t have to repeat it.”

“It’s my fault, though, right? You got hurt.”

“Oh, my dear, come here,” Venu says. 

Kishore risks looking in through the crack in the door. Her daughter clambers up onto the bed next to where her mother leans against the headboard. Venu brings Ameya in close, tucked under her arm like a bird shielding her young. Ameya’s eyes are wet, but it’s Venu’s expression that speaks of grief. 

“It isn’t your fault,” she says.

“Mom said that, too, but if I didn’t exist–”

“If you did not exist then the world would be poorer for it.”

Ameya sniffles. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be. You’ve done nothing wrong,” Venu assures. “I mourn the child taken. I always will, but that isn’t your fault. The people who forced your mother, and then me, into difficult situations are to blame.” 

Ameya’s breath leaves her in a shudder. “Okay,” she whispers.

“I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it. I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long, but I’m here now,” Venu says. She brushes some hair behind Ameya’s ear, and studies her face. “You look very much like your mother.”

“A lot of people say that.” Ameya smiles a little bit.

“She takes after her father,” Venu says, voice both warm and melancholic. “Your grandfather.”

Ameya begins asking about Khuvith, and Kishore steps away from the door. She stands still in the hallway, rooted into place. A shiver goes through her, and she blinks out of the tired, aching stupor she fell into. Though she can’t quite discern all the words, Venu has that cadence in her tone–she’s telling a story. The story of how she and Kishore’s father met, how they fell in love, how things were before it went wrong. 

Kishore takes another step away from the door, and pads back to her room. She doesn’t mean to fall asleep again, but wakes when Ameya returns. 

“I love you,” Kishore murmurs once Ameya settles into her arms. She doesn’t know if she says it enough. How many times is too much? How often until the words lose their meaning? 

Ameya leans her head up, and Kishore obliges, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Love you, too,” Ameya replies faintly. She blinks once, twice, and then is asleep. Kishore follows soon after.


	54. Bait (Kishore & Venu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some questions are straightforward, others less so

"If you… What would his name be, if you were given more time?” Kishore hates asking, but hates not knowing her lost sibling even more.

Venu doesn’t pause to consider an answer. She’s likely had one ready for the last eight years. “Aruna.” A cheerless smile shifts across her face.

“Aruna,” Kishore repeats. She rests her head against her mother’s shoulder.

Venu wraps an arm around Kishore, and smooths back the loose strands of hair on her forehead. “He had dark eyes like yours,” she murmurs.

“Like my father’s,” Kishore says.

“Yes.”

“I can’t make promises–”

Venu shakes her head. “Then don’t.”

Kishore forges ahead. “If I can free him, I will.”

“Why?”

Kishore frowns. “Because you love him.”

“Doesn’t that seem like a childish reason?” The gentle baiting in Venu’s tone is achingly familiar to Kishore. She’s always posed questions like this, trying to tease out Kishore’s thoughts. Now more than ever, Venu needs insight–Kishore must seem so strange to her, after a gap of eight years.

Venu doesn’t think it’s childish, but that isn’t really her question.

“No. Love is the only thing that makes sense when nothing else does,” Kishore says. She pulls away to look Venu in the eye. “Haven’t they taken enough from us?”

A slight nod. “Yes. They have.”


	55. Misfit (Kishore, Venu & Ameya)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Maallinen-Briars settle into their new home; Ameya makes a friend

The estate’s staff keep to the main house and the grounds. It’s better this way; the idea of having strangers in her home, especially servants, is unnerving. Kishore isn’t sure who made the decision, but she’s glad it’s a discussion she didn’t have.

Living in a house was a far-fetched idea for a long time, but they managed when they first came to Westruun. Now, they live on grounds with multiple buildings, sturdy stone walls, and guards on patrol. Kishore isn’t sure if she feels comforted or stifled by the security she now has.

There’s no doubt she’d choose this over other options for her family, but for herself? She hasn’t made up her mind. Complacency has no place here, regardless, and she and Emery walk the grounds and neighborhood at regular intervals, occasionally working alongside the estate guards.

The air cools, a little more day by day. Venu says that the warmth of summer might come back again for a short time, but then autumn will settle in. The trees shift from green to yellow, red, brown, some quicker than others, and Kishore marvels at the change. 

She always thought the shift from summer to fall would be abrupt, a sudden dulling of colors and heat. It’s never felt so wonderful to be wrong.

Neelam and Gwen spend most of their time in the gardens, even late at night. There’s a brightness in Neelam’s eyes that Kishore wasn’t sure she’d see again. Both she and Gwen already seem to be on friendly terms with the gardener, and occasionally help her ready things for the oncoming frost.

Rahul’s taken to sketching designs on the balcony that extends from his room. “The light is good,” he comments at dinner one night. “Even if the sun sets sooner.”

Meera’s only qualm about their new home is that she has to hike halfway across the city to get to the farmer’s market beyond the gates. Kishore’s taken to going with, to keep her company, and to reinforce the mends in their relationship. 

Slowly, Kishore learns the names of the people who have shown her family kindness. Meera seems proud of that, of Kishore making an effort.

When Kishore exits the house, she expects Ameya to be sitting with Venu on the front lawn. Instead, it’s only her mother, seated on a chair at the edge of a blanket spread over the grass. Venu’s eyes are closed, and her face is angled towards the sun. The cane she uses is hooked over the back of her chair; a new knitting project rest on the blanket at her feet, needles speared through a yarn ball.

Each day, Venu is stronger–she’s begun moving around the house without her cane, but relies on it when outside. Her hands shake less, and she says she’s sleeping better at night. Kishore isn’t sure what ‘better’ means; any improvement is good, she decides, and isn’t about to start quantifying her mother’s health.

Kishore sits on the blanket, shoulders pressed against Venu’s knees. “Where is Ameya?” she wonders.

Venu takes Kishore’s braid in her hands before replying. “One of the children from the main house asked her to play,” she says. Her fingers sift through Kishore’s hair, undoing the plait. “I think they’re exploring the garden.”

“Whose child?”

Venu begins to re-braid the hair in her hands. “Peronel, the scribe.”

Kishore’s familiar with the name, but hasn’t met the scribe in person. There isn’t much need for scrivenings, at least for the Maallinen-Briars. However, as long as the scribe wasn’t working for the previous tenants of the estate, then Kishore has no reason to send them away or question their presence.

“Mom, Grandma!” Ameya sprints across the lawn, coming from the direction of the gardens.

“Wait for me!” a voice cries out. Another figure, a halfling child, struggles to keep pace, but their legs are much shorter than Ameya’s and they fall behind in moments. Ameya turns back and says something before the other child climbs onto her back.

Ameya skids to a stop at the blanket, nearly overbalancing with the added weight of the halfling. She turns her instability into a somewhat controlled fall, sprawling them both out in front of Kishore. They giggle madly before Ameya focuses back on Kishore.

“Look at this!” She thrusts her closed fist in Kishore’s direction.

Her palm opens. Kishore takes a perfectly spherical, shining black stone out of her hand. “Interesting,” she says, and gives the rock a close look. “You found this?”

“I stepped on it,” Ameya admits. “My foot is okay!” She flails her foot in the air, as if to demonstrate her well-being.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Kishore says and smiles. She hands the trinket back and says, “How do you think this rock became so round?”

“It was born that way,” the halfling girl says, immediately. She looks to be around Ameya’s age, with short, dark hair and tanned skin. There’s a jagged scar on the left side of her face, running from above her eyebrow, down over her cheekbone, and then back towards her ear. There’s a notch in her ear from whatever caused the trauma. 

It looks like an old sword wound, at least to Kishore.

The girl’s eyes are dark, and go wide when she realizes both Kishore and Venu are looking at her.

Venu chuckles. “I’m not sure about that.”

“Mom, this is Bijou!” Ameya cries, unaware of her companion’s slight panic. “She knows where all the cool places are. We found a hole where rabbits live.” She turns to her new friend. “Bijou, this is my mom. You already met Grandma.”

“It’s good to meet you, Bijou,” Kishore says, voice soft. 

The halfling blushes, but smiles. “You, too.”

“Bijou knows how to make slingshots, and we’re gonna shoot this rock at someone,” Ameya announces.

“Ameya,” Kishore chides.

Bijou’s hands flail about, palms forward, like she’s trying to wave away Ameya’s claims. “No, no! Mom said we can’t hit people, and the cook gave me old bottles we can try shooting!”

Ameya’s mouth twists into a pout and she slouches.

“Be careful around any broken glass,” Kishore warns. “And don’t set up your firing range near people. Perhaps ask Emery for advice on a good location.”

Ameya attaches to that idea. “Do you want to meet one of my uncles?” she asks.

Bijou nods. “Sure!” 

Without another word, Ameya hefts Bijou onto her back again and runs pell-mell towards home. Kishore is slightly concerned, but she doesn’t hear screaming, so she assumes they’re fine.

Venu finishes rebraiding Kishore’s hair and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Ameya doesn’t have many friends, does she?”

“No. Other children seem more inclined to bully her, rather than befriend.”

“Something tells me this Bijou may be in a similar situation,” Venu remarks. 

Kishore reaches for her mother’s hands and pulls them down over her shoulders and collarbones. Venu leans down and holds her in a loose embrace. “Like responds to like,” Kishore murmurs. “At least that’s what I’ve learned.”

“From observation or experience?”

“Both."


	56. Swing (Emery & Venu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emery and Venu have a discussion regarding love, death, and grief

Emery finds Venu in the gardens. There’s a swinging bench tucked beneath the arched branches of two oak trees. Vibrant leaves shift and scatter across the ground, pulled by the wind. The oaks themselves hold stubbornly to their browning foliage, while the other trees in the area dump leaves with abandon.

Fading mid-afternoon sunlight warms the grounds, just enough to take the bite out of the breeze. Emery doesn’t work today, but he and Kishore will be patrolling the estate’s wall and neighborhood on their own later. 

Venu sees him approach, and pats the space next to her on the swing. “Join me?”

He sits beside her. It’s a little strange, but in a good way. Kishore looks better now that her mother is cognizant, and each day it becomes more and more apparent how much she takes after Venu.

“Can I ask you something?” They haven’t actually talked much in the last couple weeks, and he wants to know her better, wants to be known, too. 

She calls him by his full name, Emery, not Em. He wants her to call him Em, like her children do, like Elspeth does.

Venu reaches out and takes one of his hands between her own. He’s a little bit startled, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t want to pull away–the warmth of her hands is comforting. “Of course,” she replies.

“How do you… I don’t know how to do this, living with people I love so far away,” he admits.

“You’re already doing just that. It’s not easy or simple. It hurts, and will continue to hurt until you’re together again.”

His hand tightens around hers. “What if they don’t come back?”

“Sorrow is both a noun and a verb. You will always feel grief in a permanent loss, but you won’t always be grieving,” she tells him. “You don’t need me to tell you that you have a long life ahead of you, but it will be one filled with both joy and sadness. No matter how heavy that sadness feels, happiness will always be greater. Even if you can’t feel that truth, it’s there.”

“Happiness always ends.”

“So does sorrow,” she says. “Perhaps not the noun, but the verb, like I said. Nothing is permanent, and that should be celebrated, not feared.”

Emery nods. He can’t internalize her words yet, but someday he will, and he’ll be better for it. They don’t speak again until the sun begins to set, and Meera calls them inside for dinner. Venu doesn’t let go of his hand.


	57. Library (Kishore, Ameya & Venu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excuse me while I just lean into the idea that the Maallinens aren't fully goliath

There’s a library in their new house. It’s not a large space, not compared to the one in the main house, but Neelam and Emery seem more than happy with its contents. 

Ameya spends time there, too, despite her claims that books are for nerds. When asked to clarify that statement, she says that the books _Neelam and Emery_ read are for nerds. The books _she_ reads are cool, and interesting, and not at all boring.

Kishore isn’t sure what the difference is, except that Ameya favors fiction over non-fiction. Still, she’ll read anything if it captures her interest.

“This book has pictures of goliaths,” Ameya says. She’s curled up on one of the sofas in the library, with a book open on the cushion next to her. “None of the goliaths in the pictures have pointed ears like mine. And their skin looks a lot more like rocks. I remember some of the other goliaths, the ones who lived with us in the caves. They didn’t have pointed ears, either, did they? Thane’s ears aren’t pointy.”

Kishore looks over Ameya’s shoulder at the book. Historically, Kishore hasn’t spent time comparing herself to other goliaths; she’s always felt removed from traditional goliath culture, so there never seemed to be a need. The goliath cultists and miners were outside Kishore’s sphere of interest–focusing on others meant she was distracted from herself and her family.

Now that Ameya points the differences out, Kishore pauses. “Hmm, you’re right.”

“Why do we look different?”

Venu moves from her chair by the window to sit beside Ameya. Her fingers trace the edge of the book’s pages, and she makes a soft, hum-like sound. “We’re elf-blooded,” she states. 

Ameya’s face twists with confusion. “What?”

“A few generations back, one of our ancestors married a half-elf. At least, that’s what my grandmother told me,” she explains.

Ameya blinks. “I’m part elf?”

“A small part, but yes.”

Kishore can’t help but frown. “I didn’t know this.”

“It wasn’t important when you were growing up,” Venu explains. “There was other, more vital information you needed. Dredging up old history seemed needless.”

Kishore nods. “How long ago did this half-elf joined the family?”

“Long enough that no one knows her name,” she says, a shadowed look in her eyes. “The herd’s lorekeeper was driven out months before your father and I left. If anyone knew, it was him, and I doubt he’s still alive.”

“Why did you leave?” Ameya asks. “The lore guy was kicked out? What did he do?” Her eyes flicker from Venu to Kishore, and her next question is thick with reproach. “Am I too little to know?”

Kishore’s eyebrow quirks. “No, you’re old enough,” she says.

Venu’s posture sags, just enough that Kishore notices. She doesn’t sigh, but her next breath is deeper and she lets it out slow. “The Herd of Storms occupied Westruun during the black dragon’s rule,” she tells Ameya. 

“I heard about that,” Ameya says.

“Yes. I haven’t spoken with anyone who was here at the time, but I imagine the herd wasn’t kind to the people here. The herd leaders weren’t kind to the rest of us, I can only assume that it was worse for the people living here.

“It wasn’t always that way. It wasn’t always about endless struggle and a need to prove yourself against others,” she explains. “When I was a child, the herd did what was necessary to survive, but certain people fell into places of power, and they believed that brutality was intrinsic to survival.”

Kishore steps back from the sofa, and goes to the window. She watches Gwen and Neelam in the gardens below. Gwen is gesturing excitedly at a tree, explaining something she sees in the branches, while Neelam listens with clear eyes and a wide smile.

An unspeakable relief fills Kishore; part of her wants to believe that every terrible thing they’ve gone through was worth it just for Neelam’s smile. But she and her family shouldn’t have had to suffer in order to cherish something as simple as a smile. Kishore isn’t stronger because she’s been hurt–her strength is separate from what haunts her.

She isn’t more because of her scars. She’s just broken in ways most people aren’t. The Cult of the Prismatic Queen has taken more than could ever be restored.

Venu’s voice doesn’t break. Ameya is silent and still, and Kishore has a strange, clairvoyant-like moment when she looks at her. 

She imagines her daughter older, still vivacious and sharp-eyed, but with an undercurrent of _knowing._ Wisdom will come to Ameya naturally, not eked from unforgiving earth like Kishore’s own.

Venu’s voice is steady, calming, and solemn. Ameya’s entire demeanor echoes that tone.

Kishore knows this part of her family’s history, at least: Venu and Khuvith left the herd, seeking a gentler life, one where they weren’t ruled by power-hungry brutes. An agent of Tiamat found them before they could make such a life. The agent told them stories of a place where there was more than enough for everyone, where they’d be a valued part of a community. Anywhere was better than with the herd, right? 

Venu was younger than Kishore is now when she was tricked into servitude. 

Kishore wonders if her mother’s wisdom is innate, or if it was paid for with tears and blood.


	58. Dark (Elspeth & Rahul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Rahul and Elspeth have their Dayereth-assigned projects

Elspeth creeps down the stairs into the basement. It’s kind of weird being underground. It probably always will be. In their last house, the only basement they had was the cellar, which was definitely haunted.

For his birthday, the family pooled resources to gift Rahul a proper workshop. The space has everything an artisan jeweler could ever want or need. They even went and asked Rila what sort of tools and supplies Rahul used at work, just to make sure everything was as correct as possible.

Rahul nearly cried when he saw the workshop. That wasn’t too great a feat–he’s always been sensitive–but it was great to see his eyes shine with joy rather than fear or uncertainty. 

So, Elspeth is, admittedly, a bit hesitant to encroach on his new space. 

He’s sketching at one of the tables. His eyes are narrowed, brow furrowed, concentrating while his pencil moves smoothly over paper. From her place halfway down the stairs, Elspeth can see that he’s working on Day’s commission. A series of statuettes of the gods.

Elspeth tries to tuck some hair behind her ear, but her hand just grazes the short stubble on her right side. She’s still getting used to having both short and long hair at the same time. The movement must catch Rahul’s peripherals–he glances over at her.

“Ellie,” he says, using the nickname only Rahul and Emery are allowed to use.

“Can I borrow a corner?” She lifts the parchment, ink, and bits of wire in her hands. “I’m used to making scrolls in super quiet places.”

He smiles, and to many it would look like a subdued expression, but Elspeth knows him better than that. In a lot of ways, he’s like Kishore. The smallest of expressions have the biggest meanings. His smile is like hers–soft and quiet, no teeth showing, but with earnestness in every line. 

Rahul shrugs. “I’m just planning things out right now, so that part is pretty quiet. It might get louder later?”

She shrugs. “I don’t really hate sound, but I work better when I’m not alone.” Though she doesn’t say it, she also knows that Rahul isn’t going to talk at her while she’s working. Not that the rest of her family is inclined towards chattering–she seems to be alone in that–but there’s something about the basement space that feels safe. It’s not dark, but there are no windows, and the light doesn’t change.

Rahul has a nervous disposition, but Elspeth still finds comfort in his presence. He’s hard to annoy, and even harder to anger. He’s softer than his siblings, and after everything that happened in Emon, Elspeth is craving softness.

Also, it’s nice to work on their Day-assigned projects together.

Rahul gestures to the desk nearest the stair–it looks like the place where he keeps all his drafting supplies. “Wherever you want to be is fine, but the desk is nice.”

Elspeth nods and trots down the last few steps. “Thank you,” she says.

He turns back to his sketches. “I don’t like to work alone, either,” he admits, honestly, gently. “Even if you wanna just come down here to read, I’d like that. Neelam sometimes does, and that’s nice.”

“I’ll remember that,” Elspeth promises. “Let me know if you want a second opinion on anything. I have a great eye for style.”

His laughter is more like a huffing exhale. “I know."


	59. Dizzy (Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrestling with faith after a harrowing road

O, First of Dragons, singular and fair, honorable guardian, I beseech you. Please, hear my prayer and aid me in carrying my burdens. You defend us against the darkness, and so I have defended my home. 

I don’t know if you were watching. We stopped the war between Emon and Westruun. I told you we would, and we freed Emon from the blue dragon who served the Scaled Tyrant. I froze him, and then healed Aritian enough for him to deal the final blow.

I don’t know if I could’ve come out of that unscathed. I have scars that I didn’t have before, and I hope you don’t think that’s shameful. You’re beautiful in so many ways, it’s sometimes hard for me to even be here, in your house, because I feel so dirty? Soiled. Yeah, soiled. Inside before, outside now.

Triumph is supposed to bring joy and relief, isn’t it? It always has before, but all my other wins didn’t come at the same cost as this one.

I don’t understand anything anymore. I’ve made mistakes. I know that. But I don’t think those mistakes have helped me learn anything. What is justice, or honor, when every corner I turn has some new enemy or challenge? I feel so helpless, pulled along in the tides of history-being-made. I deserve to be here, to control my fate and make sure things go in the right direction, but deserving something doesn’t mean I’m capable. It doesn’t mean I have answers that others don’t.

In Westruun, we prayed for justice against Emon, for us to defeat them in the war. And then in Emon, the people were praying for the same thing, but opposite. Westruun was the enemy. Emon saw itself as correct.

But… Both cities are at fault, aren’t they, in different ways? Westruun for making deals with the Prismatic Queen’s servants, and Emon for allowing those servants into her ranks. How do you weigh these things? Where does justice come into this? What is fair? What outcomes do we get, according to your scales?

I killed someone. He was defenseless, and Theren was trying to save him. I was scared, so I killed him. We were trying to run, and I thought if he was dead, we could run faster. I thought he was deadly and targeting us, so maybe he was a servant of the Prismatic Queen, or maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he was paid to kill us. Are people who kill for money automatically unjust? 

I don’t understand. I wasn’t being paid, not really, and I killed him, because I didn’t know if he was worthy or capable of redemption. How do I know the difference between real evil and people who are just on the wrong path? 

I feel so dizzy and sick with all the ‘what-ifs’ and ‘maybes.’ The last time I was this unsure, I was still underground, still one of _hers._ My name wasn’t even mine. 

I’ve hurt a lot of people because she made me. They’re still down there in the tunnels and mines and fighting pits, and I’m here, breathing, and seeing the leaves change color for the first time. Free, I mean. I’m free and the others aren’t. And not all of them are slaves. Some of them are like me, born into it. 

Where’s the justice in that? In not getting a choice, and not getting a chance at freedom? 

In the next few days, the people I helped in Emon are marching towards an army that belongs to the Scaled Tyrant. I can’t go with them. I’m sorry. I probably should, but I don’t think I can right now.

I want to serve wherever you call me. I just need a little more direction.


	60. Treasure (Kishore & Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore cuts Elspeth's hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: trans-related dysphoria

Kishore cuts Elspeth’s hair, removing the ragged parts nearest her right temple. She’s seen others with similar haircuts, one section shorn short with the rest kept long. Beneath the matted hair is a jagged, half-circle scar. The wound is healed, but the scar is fresh. Kishore keeps her hands steady and gentle.

Elspeth doesn’t speak. Her eyes are closed. Her right hand clutches her holy symbol.

She has other marks, too, beyond the head wound. A branching, vein-like scar arcs up Elspeth’s neck, starting somewhere under her collar–it looks like lightning branded in red on her skin. It would be beautiful, if Kishore didn’t know better.

Both Elspeth and Meera are very feminine people, but they each carry that part of themselves differently. Meera is more focused on what she wears, while Elspeth has always treasured her hair, especially its length.

_They_ forced her to keep it short, before. When Elspeth was very small–younger than Ameya is now–she’d looked at Kishore’s braid with such longing, fingers plucking at her own hair, as if she could make it change just by pulling at it.

Kishore shaves the side of Elspeth’s head, making sure to only cut what’s necessary. Most of her hair is left untouched, except for when Kishore trims Elspeth’s split ends. She puts away her scissors and straight razor and brushes stray hairs from Elspeth’s shoulders.

“Do I still look like a girl?” Elspeth’s voice is almost a whisper, wracked with fear.

Kishore circles around and kneels at Elspeth’s feet. “Look at me,” she says.

Elspeth does. Her eyes are wet.

“You always have and always will look like a girl, because you are a girl,” Kishore tells her. “Your appearance may change, but it does not have any sway over who you are.”

“But–”

“Yes. You look like a girl. This style suits you,” Kishore remarks and thumbs at the shortest part of Elspeth’s hair, bristles dark and soft. “Will you dye it again?”

“Maybe after the war? Or battle, whatever,” she says.

Kishore hums. “What color?”

She thinks for a moment, lips twisted to the side. “I’ve never tried silver before. It might look weird, but it’s a lighter color so it’ll be easy to change.”

Kishore stands, and swoops down to kiss the crown of Elspeth’s head. Elspeth leans into her, and heaves a great sigh.


	61. Advice (Kishore & Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elspeth and Kishore discuss becoming the margrave's advisors

“The margrave asked us to be his advisors, specifically to help against cultist activity.”

Elspeth’s lips twist to the side. “Us? Who’s us? How many of you were there?”

“Cihro, Day, and myself. Theren was with you, if the pie tins in the kitchen sink are anything to go by, and Io chose to stay home.” She doesn’t mention Caius or Aritian, and Elspeth doesn’t ask.

“Did he mean me, too?”

“He didn’t mention you, but I don’t believe he’d turn you away. There are things you know that I don’t, so if you’re willing, your insight could be helpful.”

“My mom killed his mom.”

“You are not your mother’s choices. What she’s done isn’t your fault, or responsibility.”

“But he doesn’t know, does he? About what Mom did, and that she’s _my_ mom? I should make sure he knows, because he might not want me around otherwise. I don’t want to lie, even just by not saying anything.”

“If you believe that’s best.”

“Yeah, I do.” Elspeth folds her arms over her chest.

Kishore tucks some wayward hair behind Elspeth’s ear. “It may go better than you expect. He seems determined to rule differently than his father. He would benefit from having advisors his own age, if you are willing to undertake that responsibility.”

“Are you going to be an advisor?”

“Yes.”

She seems surprised. “Really?”

“Westruun is my home now. I’ll protect it however I can.” 

“You didn’t care about the old margrave, right?”

“I didn’t, no. The current margrave could be a greater man than his father ever was, and I would have him live long enough to get there.”

Elspeth nods, a resolute set to her shoulders. “I’m gonna tell him. About what my mom did. And if I can, and he’ll let me, I’ll help. This is my home, too.”

“It is.”

“I never thought I’d have an actual home.” Her smile is small, hesitant, but present.

Kishore allows herself a similar smile. “Neither did I.”

“I’m glad that we have this. Like, I know things aren’t perfect and they never will be. I still have nightmares almost every night, but at least when I wake up, I can see the sky from my window, and I have friends and people who love me.”

For a few moments, Kishore can’t speak. Elspeth is older than her years, deep down, and always has been. Kishore is proud of her, and how much she’s grown in the last six months. “The margave will benefit from your council, and if he doesn’t know that now, he will learn it.”

“I hope so. I just have to get to that point first, you know?”

Kishore nods, and offers a soft, encouraging smile. Elspeth lets her head thunk against Kishore’s arm, and heaves a sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> realization: i keep having elspeth sighing at the end of these, but she's a bratty, moody teenager so it's fine whatever


	62. Stitch (Kishore & Meera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Maallinen-Briar family gains a couple new members

There’s a word in giant that Meera embroiders into every article of clothing she makes for her family. She usually tucks it inside a collar or along a hem, in thread the same color as the base fabric. It’s never obvious, but it’s there regardless.

When moving from one language to another, there are always words and ideas that cannot be perfectly translated. In giant, there’s one such word that captures a spirit of gritty determination. Common has words like resilience, fortitude, and bravery, but none of those are a direct equivalent.

It’s part prayer, part blessing–Meera would have the people she loves show gutsy strength every day, no matter what they face. Words are difficult, especially ones that cannot be said in more than one tongue, but Meera does what she can to articulate the inexpressible.

–

Meera’s sitting on one of the drawing room sofas; she’s knitting a scarf, it looks like, using the noontide sun as a lamp. She looks up when Kishore enters the room, and flashes an easy smile.

Kishore sits cross-legged beside her. She takes the finished section of knitting and studies the precise stitches. The yarn is softer than she expects. “Cihro was wondering if you had time to make him a new outfit. He’s described his current clothes as ‘ratty.’”

Meera’s knitting needles pause, then resume. “Yeah, I can do that,” she replies. “Let me know when he’s free, so we can talk details.”

“I’ll send him over,” Kishore says. “Would you be willing to include the family blessing?”

Meera blinks, and takes a moment to study Kishore’s face. “Really?” It’s not an incredulous or angry question. Her tone carries surprise, wonderment. 

Kishore nods, and leans back against the sofa. “Cihro and Day are… important to me. We’ve been through a great deal together, and I trust them, with my life and with all of your lives, too. 

“They’re my friends, but… There is something in each of them that resonates with me. I’m inspired to be better than I am, very much like how you and the others inspire me. Day and Cihro deserve to have a place here, if they want it.”

Meera doesn’t speak for a few long moments. She keeps knitting, staying at a steady pace, and then she sighs. “They kept Elspeth safe in Emon, and they look out for you.”

“Yes.”

Meera muses, “I should make something for Day then, too. Winter’s Crest is coming up soon.”

“Cihro may have ideas,” Kishore offers.

“I’ll ask him.” Meera sets aside her half-finished scarf. “Kishore, I’m glad you have people like Day and Cihro. And Aritian, too, even though you haven’t said as much.”

“Everyone needs family, by blood or by chance.”

Meera nods. “I know.”

“Thank you. For understanding.”

“You’re not that hard to figure out.”

Kishore huffs an almost-laugh. “I suspect you’re one of the few who believes that.”

“Me and Mom, yeah.”

Kishore hooks her arm around Meera’s neck and shoulders, and pulls her into a firm hug. Meera scoffs, but her arms squeeze Kishore’s ribs tight.


	63. Secrets (Kishore & Rahul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore and Rahul are part of the very exclusive "I know that Cihro and Talsin are engaged" club

Kishore finds Rahul in his workshop in the basement. He’s focused on a small block of wax, shaving pieces off with a knife. Working on a model of Talsin’s ring, it seems. Kishore waits until the knife isn’t near his skin before she clears her throat.

As she assumed, Rahul startles, but is well clear of the blade in his hands.

“Kishore,” he says, setting down his project, and getting to his feet. His eyes are bright and slightly distracted, like he wants to get back to his work.

She descends the last two stairs and, curious, goes to look closer at his project. Silver catches her eye, not where she expects it to be. There are two hoops in Rahul’s ear, thought the cartilage just above his earlobe. 

The holes themselves look healed over--no sign of infection, irritation, or trauma. Kishore reaches out and brushes her thumb over the earrings. “These are new?”

He nods. “Emery did it for me,” he says. “They’re the first things I made on my own at the shop, and I didn’t want to sell them or melt them down again, but they’ve been useless just sitting in my sock drawer. Elspeth suggested piercings, and she healed them right after.”

“How recent was this?” Kishore tries not to let her perturbation show--if she missed this, how many other things has she not noticed?

“Two days ago? I keep forgetting they’re there,” he says with a soft laugh.

Admittedly, she hasn’t seen much of him in the last few days, between his work and hers. “They look nice.”

“Thanks. Rila said so, too.” A blush fleets across his face and he quickly looks back towards his workbench. “Did you come to see what I’m working on?”

“Among other things. Cihro told me his news,” Kishore says.

Rahul grins and bounces up on his toes a little bit. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? I’ve made lots of engagement rings, but never for someone I know. And Cihro’s ideas are super unique. It’s been fun trying to figure out how to make them real, you know?”

Kishore rarely sees Rahul like this--smiling with excitement, almost bubbly--except when he’s dealing with his work. Even then, this is something special. “I’m glad he asked you.”

“Me, too! I’ll have it ready by the time you all get back,” he says. The brightness in his eyes dim. “I already told him that, but… just make sure he knows.”

“He does.”

Rahul’s eyes dart to the side, then back to Kishore’s. “Who else knows? About Cihro and Talsin?”

“Only us, at least for now.”

“Oh wow,” he sighs. “I feel kinda special, though I know that’s not it. I understand, though. It’s not something everyone gets to know, even if it wasn’t dangerous.”

Kishore studies Rahul for a moment. “How much do you know about the situation, overall?”

Rahul plops back down on his stool. His shoulders curve inward a little bit, and he picks at a small hangnail on his thumb. “I know more than Emery does. About where Day and Cihro come from. Who they work for. Elspeth told me.”

“That is a heavy secret for you to bear,” Kishore comments. 

Rahul shrugs. “You said they’re family. You and Mom and Meera have sacrificed a lot for the rest of us, so keeping a secret isn’t that much of a cost. Elspeth was fretting and needed to talk to someone. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t mind being told the secret, or you don’t mind the secret itself?”

“Both, I guess? If I can help by listening, I’m happy to, you know? And the places we come from don’t necessarily decide what we’re like as people. Our family knows that better than most people. 

“Besides, I like Cihro and Day! It’s fun when they come over. You get kinda sassy? In a good way? When they’re here. They’re been good friends to you.”

“They have,” she agrees, and knows full well what Rahul’s talking about. Keeping up with the half-elf brothers isn’t always easy, but she’s gotten better, hopefully. She’s learning to speak without censoring herself as much, especially when the listeners are people she trusts. “Now, tell me what you’re planning.”

Rahul nods, biting back a grin, and swivels around to face his wax carving. Kishore pulls another chair closer, and sits shoulder-to-shoulder with him. She listens intently while he explains how he’ll build Cihro’s ideas into something precious and tangible.


	64. Epithet (Venu & Ensemble)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Venu gives her family nicknames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Every goliath has three names: a birth name assigned by the newborn’s mother and father, a nickname assigned by the tribal chief, and a family or clan name."  
> - _Elemental Evil Player's Companion_

Venu is the only person in the family who has lived in a proper goliath herd—a herd where the leaders are just and each member of the community works to better themselves and the people around them. Where healthy competition uplifts everyone, and the strong don’t batter down those weaker than them just because they can.

She’s also knows what it looks like when everything goes wrong. But a corrupt herd is somehow better than living among cultists. She had her names on the surface.

Before she and Khuvith were tricked into the cult, her nickname was Rainseer. She was known for predicting the weather. She doesn’t have any sort of supernatural power—it all comes down to the wind and clouds, but not everyone cares to look closely, and find the patterns there.

Khuvith was Snowstep, fastest on foot through any amount of snow. In winter months and mountain climes, his fortitude was invaluable. He doesn’t have a epithet anymore. He isn’t part of a herd. There’s no chief to name him.

For the last eight years, Meera and Kishore have shared the position of leader, whether they knew it or not. They’ve never been interested in maintaining traditions they have no experience with. They never assigned themselves titles like chief, and so they never gave nicknames to the others. 

Despite the strangeness of her new family—and what a wonderful strangeness that is—Venu finds herself viewing everyone as a clan, a herd. There’s no chieftain or rigid hierarchy, but that has a certain appeal. 

However, there are some traditions that she misses, ones that still have value in her heart. So, Venu decides to name the nameless. 

She has the freedom to do that, finally.

* * *

  * Kishore
    * Fluttermouse
  * Meera
    * Steelspine
  * Rahul
    * Opaleyes
  * Neelam
    * Wildbloom
  * Ameya
    * Sunsprite
  * Emery
    * Oathsworn
  * Elspeth
    * Brightscale
  * Hope
    * Fireshrike
  * Gwen
    * Timberling
  * Cihro
    * Silverwit
  * Dayereth
    * Goldensong
  * Talsin
    * Sageweaver



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Others will get their Venu-assigned nicknames as they are assimilated--I MEAN ADDED--to the family.


	65. Importance (Kishore & Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elspeth is resilient, but still struggles with life outside the cult

Elspeth rushes into the house, slamming the door behind her. Kishore is in the library, and catches sight of Elspeth storming towards the stairs.

“Elspeth?” she calls, and makes to follow.

She stops and spins around. “Ki.” Her face is drawn–she looks beleaguered. 

Kishore ushers her into the library, meeting no resistance. She closes the doors and sits on the larger of the settees in the room. Elspeth slumps down next to her.

“What’s wrong?” Kishore asks once the silence has stretched far enough.

Elspeth struggles before she speaks. “Is it normal to wonder if you’ll ever be the most important person to someone?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Kishore replies. “Relationships are not a hierarchy. Some may have more influence in your life, but every connection you make has gravity, even if you may not know it at first.”

“I just… I know a lot of people. People I like, and who I think like me, too. I talk to them all the time, every day, but then I see them with each other, or I hear how they talk about the people in _their_ lives…”

She draws in a sharp breath, lower lip quivering. “I’m missing something, aren’t I? I don’t have anything like that? I mean, our family is good, we’re really close, but we’re not normal like other families. We have to stay together, because who else could even try to understand us?” Her words quicken, voice rising in pitch.

Kishore reaches out and takes hold of her hands. “Elspeth,” she murmurs, soft and low. “Where is this coming from?”

There’s a moment of stillness, at the edge, and then Elspeth shatters into tears. She can’t catch her breath long enough to speak. Kishore gathers her into her arms, all but pulling Elspeth onto her lap.

“I-I’m so _lonely_ sometimes. It’s like it’s something eating me alive, taking as m-much as it wants,” she stutters between sobs. “No matter who I’m with, or w-where or why, it’s following me, always reminding me that it’s there, and that everyone will leave, no matter what I say or do, because I’m not enough to keep them, and I don’t know what to do.

“Everything is so shallow. All those people I talk to, it seems like I’m performing, and I don’t know how to be more. I don’t know how to be worthwhile. I’m an afterthought. A _convenience_.” Her lungs seize and she breaks all over again, losing ground against her own words and feelings.

Kishore wishes she had less practice at rocking someone in her arms, but she’s so familiar with the action, the intent, that she falls into it naturally. Elspeth clings to her shirt, leaving tear-damp spots below Kishore’s collarbone.

Kishore makes a humming sound, almost the melody of the lullabies she once sung to her siblings, and then her daughter. She doesn’t tell Elspeth to hush or that everything will be alright, because they both know that lies, no matter how kind, are still harmful.

“How is it possible to feel heartbroken when no one’s broken my heart?” Elspeth demands, looking up at Kishore. Her nose is wet, cheeks tear-stained, scales glistening, eyes all red and swollen. “How can I take care of other people in the ways that I want to when I can’t even really take care of myself? I don’t know how to do either, and I don’t know where to start. I tried in Emon, but I stopped once we came home. I left. I couldn’t do it, not after everything.”

“Where did this all start, Elspeth?”

“I mean, I’ve always felt like this? Alone, weird, not right,” she manages, and aggressively rubs at still-falling tears. “Even in the cult, everyone knew that Mom didn’t really want me. I was _bred_ for a purpose.”

“Thea never said outright, but I was led to believe that your father is a powerful magic-user,” Kishore says.

Elspeth nods. The deep sadness in her eyes turns to virulent bitterness. “Yeah, that’s right. They made me because they wanted the power I’d have.”

“Perhaps not to the same degree, but I do understand.”

“I know, but how do I get anyone else to understand? How can I even begin to explain?”

Before she spirals again, Kishore squeezes her tight. “Elspeth,” she interrupts, “What brought this on? Pots don’t bubble over without a strong enough heat source.”

“I’d rather be some pasta than a person right now,” she grumbles.

Kishore indulges her with a slight smile. “That I understand, too.”

Elspeth sniffles and straightens, pulling a little bit out of Kishore’s arms. She seems to steel herself before speaking. “There’s a girl at the temple. She lives there, so I’ve known her ever since Bahamut first found me. We’re almost the same age, and so when I was learning all the basics and Gilana was busy, she’d be the one to show me what to do and where to go. How stuff works.

“She’s really nice. Kind. I like spending time with her; she makes me laugh.”

“Does this girl have a name?”

“Arden. She’s a half-elf, too, so we have that in common,” Elspeth says, offering a teary smile. “I don’t know if I have a crush on her or if we’re just friends. I know I feel strongly about her, though, and that was okay. I was okay with not being sure, but today she–”

Elspeth shakes her head, sniffling again. “It’s dumb. It’s really dumb.”

“It isn’t if it’s affected you this much,” Kishore says. 

“She was talking about her other friends, the ones who don’t live at the temple. Her family’s still in Westruun, so she hasn’t been dedicated to Bahamut her whole life. That was something she chose later,” Elspeth rambles. “So she’s had a life outside of her service, right? But her friends–the ones she’s known forever? They’re important to her. I can tell by how she talks about them. She loves them and supports them, and they do the same for her. They’re always there for each other.

“Listening to her talk about her friends made me feel so small. Small and separate, like I’d never be able to bridge the gap between me and people who grew up on the surface, in cities, normal. I’m always going to be _other_.”

Kishore knuckles away the next few tears on Elspeth’s face. “Your experiences and upbringing do not and will not prevent you from making meaningful, fulfilling relationships,” Kishore vows. “You might have to work harder than others to build those relationships, but you are not precluded from them. It will take time–most worthwhile things do. Remember, you’re still new to this life. Getting used to the changes of living on the surface, no matter how positive those changes are, is an ongoing process.

“Elspeth, there _are_ people outside this family who love and cherish you, and are grateful to know you.”

She lets her head drop against Kishore’s arm. “That doesn’t sound true right now.” Her words are thick with unshed tears.

“Perhaps not, but it will. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my personal issues manifesting in my dnd oc??? it's more likely than you think


	66. Reason (Kishore & Meera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meera has a lot of feelings and often expresses those feelings with gifts of food

In the days before the party’s departure to the south, Meera asks what Kishore would want to eat for dinner the night before she leaves. A farewell feast, so to speak.

“There doesn’t need to be anything special or out of the ordinary. A normal meal is fine. I’m happy to help, as always.”

Meera blinks. “But why not?”

“I don’t need it, and I don’t want you to go out of your way for me,” Kishore explains. “You’ve been busy with your work recently. Me doing my job doesn’t merit extra effort on your part.”

Meera frowns; her arms fold over her chest and she radiates an aura of annoyance. “I want to, Kishore.”

“Why? If it’s not necessary–”

“I don’t give a damn about _necessary_. You’re my sister and I love you, so let me do something special for you, okay?”

Kishore nearly takes a step backwards, surprised by Meera’s sudden intensity. She studies her sister–Kishore cannot read minds but she reads Meera’s tense expression, sees the fear in her eyes. “You think I won’t be coming back.”

Meera looks away. Her jaw clenches. “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she says. “This isn’t… This isn’t like Elspeth going to Emon. Even though everything there was worse than we thought, at least she was in a proper city. Where you’re going, there’s nothing. Just the wilderness with bands of orcs, apparently.”

“There will be settlements along the way.”

“Kishore, that’s not the point!”

She takes a deep breath. “Start from the beginning. Explain to me what you’re thinking.”

Meera chews on her bottom lip. Tears stand in her eyes. “If you die, who’s going to bring your body back? If they can’t, because it’s too far or too dangerous, then there won’t be any proof that you’re gone. I’ll always be wondering if it’s true, always thinking that maybe they were wrong and you’ll come back to us. Please don’t make me live the rest of my life like that.”

Kishore shakes her head, words caught in her throat, and she pulls Meera into her arms. Meera fiercely clings to Kishore’s shoulders.

“There are many ‘what ifs’ in that scenario,” Kishore manages. She clears her throat and pulls away to look Meera in the eye. “You know I will do everything I can to return.”

“It was so nice having you stay at home,” Meera says. “I know what you’re going to say. I understand you’re doing this to protect us, and that this mission is important, but it’s still hard whenever you leave.”

“Having a reason why doesn’t necessarily ease our hearts. I don’t want to leave, but if I will not go, then who? Elspeth has chosen to stay here, and I wouldn’t have her chase after her own mother like this. There’s no one else.”

Meera nods and takes a shaky breath. “Day and Cihro better watch your back. Aritian, too.”

“They will. I trust them.”

“And Gwen better be safe.”

Kishore inclines her head. “I already promised Neelam I would look out for her.”

“And Elspeth would be upset if anything happened to Theren, so–”

“Meera,” Kishore interrupts, and reaches out to take her hands. “I won’t make impossible promises, but I will do my best.”

Meera’s voice is hushed. “I know. I know you will.”

“If it makes it easier for you, if it will make you happier, then I would like a goodbye dinner,” Kishore tells her. 

Her face brightens, but there’s still a shade of sorrow lingering in her eyes. “I’ll make blueberry muffins, too,” she says. “You like blueberries.”

Kishore’s smile is dim but sincere. “I do. Thank you.


	67. Carry (Kishore, Emery & Elspeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emery and Elspeth ask Kishore to deliver a letter to Thea; Elspeth is a sad, sad bb

It’s a long while before Elspeth calms down, but neither Kishore nor Emery rush her. Elspeth seldom expresses grief; when she does, it runs river-like, until finished. Emery produces a handkerchief and the three of them sit together on Kishore’s bed.

There are moments in Kishore’s life that she wishes she could forget. Others, she wants to capture and save forever. 

Watching Elspeth cry over missing her mother is somehow both. Kishore would keep this, just to show Thea. If she could transfer memories, she’d make sure Thea saw the pain her daughter feels in her absence. 

Elspeth quiets slowly. Emery rubs her back and Kishore holds her hand.

“Do you want to stay?” Kishore asks.

Elspeth sniffles, and nods. Her breath hitches and heaves; words elude her, but they’ll be back soon enough.

“Thanks,” Emery says, voice thick with sympathetic tears. 

“Ameya will likely show up in a few hours,” Kishore warns.

Emery smiles, and it’s an easy, genuine expression. He’s always had a soft spot for Ameya. He was one of the first people to hold her after she was born, and that left an impression. On them both, Kishore suspects. 

“We don’t mind,” he says.

The letter Kishore’s been tasked to deliver sits on the nightstand. The corners are wrinkled from Elspeth’s worrying fingers. _Mother_ it says on the front in her looping scribble. Kishore will put it in her bag in the morning. For such a small few pieces of paper, she already feels the heavy phantom weight of carrying it.


	68. Blue (Kishore & Venu; AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore earns money on Omega by pit fighting; her mother disapproves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a Mass Effect AU!!!
> 
> Kishore's a turian that was raised on a Cerberus research station--said station was looking into biotics and biotic developments as well as playing around with the idea of using other species as moles within their own societies in order to further their bullshit humanity-first tenets. 
> 
> Kishore's a biotic, a decent one, but only uses her powers when she has to, bc biotic turians tend to turn heads.

Thudding bass from the club above reverberates through the ceiling, pounding in discordant time with Kishore’s heart. The room is dark along the walls, with all light sources focused on the sunken pit at the center. Tiered seating surrounded the hexagonal depression, and above the pit are a series of screens, depicting the fights below.

The air is hot and smells like the sweat of a half-dozen different species. Right now, she’s in the ring with two batarians. One has a notch in his left ear, the other has a split lip. Kishore only caused the latter, a lucky swipe with her talons. She rolls her shoulders, blood singing in her veins, and readies herself for a retaliation.

It’s a risky move, agreeing to a two-on-one fight, but Radik, the salarian who runs the fighting ring, promised her double pay if she wins. He also told her to put on a show for once, but Kishore doesn’t take kindly to orders.

People bet on her regardless of how she fights–they have been ever since she first arrived on this husk of a rock. In a den of batarians, vorcha, and other Terminus inhabitants, a solitary, bone-white, clan-less turian draws attention. She says nothing about her past to anyone, and has no documented history, at least nothing that the average Omega resident can access.

As long as she wins her fights, spectators seem to be happy with the money she makes for them. No one cares enough to ask questions, or look much closer at who she is or where she’s from.

Neither batarian has landed a solid hit on her, but she knows that won’t last long. She won’t let her guard down. That isn’t an option, here or anywhere else on Omega.

—

There’s batarian blood crusted under her talons, and she can feel her own blood caked on the side of her neck. The streets are never empty, but she takes advantage of the quieter hours to return home mostly unseen. One of her opponents got lucky and managed to kick her weak ankle; she walks with a slight limp.

The slums are dank, dirty, and poorly lit–much like the rest of Omega. It’s radically different from the pristine, white laboratories and training rooms on the Cerberus research station where she grew up. Being dissimilar works in Omega’s favor, even if Kishore feels grimy whenever she goes outside.

Her younger family members are likely asleep, so she enters the apartment as quietly as possible. Venu is awake–she always makes sure Kishore is home before she goes to bed. Her mother is in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter. She’s reading something on her datapad, but sets it aside when Kishore enters the room.

“Kishore,” she says, somehow both a question and a condemnation.

“I need water.” Kishore doesn’t meet her mother’s gaze while filling a cup at the sink, though Venu’s eyes don’t leave her.

Venu reaches out to touch the hollow of Kishore’s throat. When she draws her hand back, there’s blue staining her talons. Venu’s mandibles flare out before tucking back close to her face. A reining in of anger, a shuttering of pain.

Ah, so there isn’t just blood on Kishore’s neck, some of pooled in the ridges of her carapace. Honestly, she prefers that over trying to scrub her clothes clean.

Her mother steps around her to wash her hands in the sink. “There must be some other work,” she utters. “Every time you come home, there’s new wound.”

“It looks worse than it is, and no one dies in the ring,” Kishore says between sips of water. “They aren’t death matches.”

“It’s not about life or death, it’s about your wellbeing.”

Kishore knows, but she has a hard time caring. “The pay–”

Venu cuts her off with a sharp gesture, scattering droplets of water across the floor. “The pay doesn’t matter if it means you’re bleeding in the kitchen every night. Please, Kishore. I don’t want this for you.”

Kishore sighs, and nods. “I… I’ll ask around tomorrow, if there’s steady work elsewhere. Elspeth might know someone.”

Venu takes her hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure she does. Thank you.”

Kishore just nods again; she’ll have to ask Radik if evenings are the only time he holds fights, and if she can come in less often. Her mother’s request will be heeded; Kishore will find another job, but she isn’t willing to give up the fighting pits completely.


	69. Goodbyes (Elspeth & Ensemble)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elspeth says her goodbyes before the party travels south

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wouldn't exist without [ironwreath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/broodingmischief/pseuds/ironwreath), who cihro-ed when my brain threw a fit, thank you!!!

Elspeth stands at the estate gates and hugs the party before they go, except Krusk, who gets a high-five that jars her entire arm. It’s worth it, to see his scarred face break into a grin.

-

Despite her stature and general skittishness, Gwen gives great hugs when she puts her mind to it; no wonder Neelam likes having her around. Elspeth briefly lifts her off the ground, squeezing tight. 

“You’re going to be great, I know you will. And don’t worry about Neelam while you’re gone, we’ll take care of her,” Elspeth promises. “We’re all going to miss you, but I want to hear stories about everything once you’re back.”

Gwen’s smile is small and fleeting. She opens her mouth to speak, but then reconsiders. Instead, she bites at her lips and says, “Thank you.” 

-

She more or less springs a hug on Day, nearly knocking the hat from his head. They both grab the brim to keep it from tumbling to the ground. Elspeth smiles, and it feels like the most genuine smile she’s had in a long time. She loops her arm through his, similar to when she recently pulled him out of a research binge. 

It takes a moment to realize they’re almost the same height now, more or less eye-to-eye. Maybe by the time everyone comes back, she’ll be taller than both Day and Cihro. She’s not looking forward to all the joint pain that comes with growth spurts, but there are lots of things about herself that she can’t change. 

“I’ll keep researching, as much as I can between work and temple duties,” she says. “I might have to steal some of your notes and books, just to get a better picture of things. Hope you didn’t lock your bedroom door.”

“Don’t–Don’t touch anything except my notes,” he begs, a panicked look on his face. “And the books, you can look at those. But _please_ , leave everything else alone.”

“I will only snoop an appropriate amount. Cleric’s honor.” She draws an X over her heart. 

He gives her an exasperated expression, and she drops the playfulness. 

“I’ll be careful. I won’t ruin anything.”

Day nods, and she bonks her head against his shoulder.

-

“Please don’t die,” she tells Aritian. She refrains from adding ‘again.’

He’s a little awkward about her approach, her affection, but they’ve been through a lot together. She’s held his life in her hands multiple times, so a hug is tiny compared to that. He doesn’t hesitate to hug back, even if it’s obvious how out of practice he is.

“I’ll do my best,” he replies. The smile on his face is strained, but he’s trying for her sake, and she appreciates it.

-

No one’s said anything, but her eyes are red and puffy from crying the last few days. She knows she looks like a wreck, and that’s because she is. While saying goodbye, she has to keep taking deep breaths, trying to hold it together. 

When she withdraws from Cihro’s hug, she’s managed to keep her eyes dry so far. The next part might not be as easy. 

In undercommon, she says, “If you find my mom, don’t let Kishore die for her. She might try, if she thinks it’ll fix something, and my mom doesn’t deserve it.” Her voice wobbles once, at the end.

Cihro keeps is hands on her shoulders, as if to steady her. His face is both thoughtful and troubled. He replies, also in undercommon, “Die how?”

Words are beyond her for a moment. In her mind’s eye she sees the vision from Hallowdust’s tower: Thea standing over a pile of bodies, with Kishore dead at her feet. 

Elspeth pushes the images away. “She might let my mom kill her, or sacrifice herself. Trying to jar her out of whatever mission she’s on or to prove a point. I don’t know.”

He gives her a reassuring smile, and lightly taps under her chin with a knuckle. “I’ll try not to let it happen. Hopefully we’ve gotten into her head more than Thea ever did and we can convince her not to if it comes down to it. Looks like Kishore has a habit of trying to set people straight; she did the same with Caius.“ He shakes his head a little and adds, “You’re right, though. She’s not worth dying for.”

He squeezes her shoulders once and gives them a little, but firm, clap before letting her go. “Take care of yourself. Take a spa day or something, I dunno.”

She sniffles and lets out a soft laugh. “That’s not a bad idea. Thank you.”

He rejoins the rest of the party, and shoots a lazy salute at Elspeth. Something in his face, though, makes her realize that his words are more than an errant suggestion. She _needs_ to take care of herself, in whatever way works.

-

Not much is said when Elspeth throws herself into Kishore’s arms.

“I love you.” Kishore runs a hand over her head, through the shortest parts of her hair.

“Love you, too, Ki.”

Everything else of importance has already been said.

-

Theren is last in line. By chance or design, Elspeth isn’t sure. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, and he hugs back, tight around her ribs. She presses their temples together. They both happen take a deep breath at the same time, and Elspeth half-laughs on the exhale. 

“Is the tressym I gave you in your bag?” she asks, voice hushed.

He nods.

“Okay, good. I’m glad.”

Letting go is hard, harder than she imagined, so she hangs on just a few moments more. Then, she manages to take a step back. “Listen to the Moonweaver.” She squeezes his hands, like a punctuation mark. “Let her guide you, okay? I know she likes playing tricks but she won’t lead you astray, not when it matters most. Even if the path looks wrong, that doesn’t mean it is.” 

Before she releases hands, she leans up and kisses his forehead. 

One step back, then two. She half turns to leave, but then looks back and tells him, “You’re in my prayers.”


	70. Shatter (Kishore, Cihro & Day)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore's not crying, it's just rain on her face. 
> 
> (She's definitely crying.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at first i was like, does this go in kishore's standalone fic?? but ofc it doesn't
> 
> the half-elf bros are her bros, so into the family fic this goes

The dragon’s tail throws Shale off the edge of the cliff, and she offers a warm, kind smile at Kishore before plummeting. Then, she hears the sound of bones and flesh shattering on rock. 

Kishore nearly shatters as well. Her heart cracks under the weight of deaths she couldn’t prevent. She pushes through the pain, seals together the broken pieces of her heart with molten metal, screwed back into place, whole, but completely closed off from the outside. A flash of pain, searing in her chest, and then a cool nothing.

Serenity descends, a veil shielding her from everything else. The rest of the fight, her movements are fluid, precise. Her clothes still burn, but never once does she betray her hurt. 

She spits blood on the ground. Her eyes are focused and dispassionate.

—

She flies downward. The ramparts around her heart crumble. They weren’t meant to last, these ramshackle wards against sorrow. Rain continues to fall. Her landing is graceless. The carnage makes her stumble. It’s been more than a decade since a dead body has made her quaver like this. 

She sinks to her knees and wraps her arms around herself–a facsimile hug, a desperate search for comfort. Pain radiates from the outside in, and from the inside out. Hurt is a recursive loop, one part feeding into another, then back again. 

Thunder rumbles high in the mountains, loud enough to shake her bones.

Day lands moments later, and Cihro slides off his back. Day huddles down beside Kishore. His wing extends over her head, a shelter from the rain. Cihro sits on her other side, nestled close. The support and warmth they offer helps Kishore stay upright.

Though he isn’t a songbird, Day hums a mournful melody. The soft almost-dirge is soothing. She reaches out to touch his feathered flank. His music has always been a balm. 

What Cihro tells her is true: This isn’t her fault, no matter what she feels. Someday, she’ll believe that with both her head and heart. 

She tells them about Thane. Not all of it, but as much as she can. 

“It’s amazing that you can fight with that on your mind.”

Some unnamed feeling bubbles up in her throat, tasting like bile. Necessity keeps her fighting more than grief can hinder her. “I don’t think I ever stopped mourning him the first time. It’s just more of the same.“ Her voice wobbles. It doesn’t break.

Cihro is wiser than he lets on–but she’s known that for quite some time. He talks about there being an end in sight. 

Kishore admits, “I can’t see it yet.”

“That’s fine.” He accepts her words with ease. 

She tries to blink away the wetness in her eyes. She’s only partially successful.

He squeezes her arm. “We’ll be here.” 

She sniffles, but the sound is covered by Day’s reassuring trill. Cihro chuckles, and the corners of Kishore’s mouth form the echo of a smile.

“Thank you.”

Cihro uses his sleeve to mop up her tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might come back and actually edit but meh


	71. Level Ten Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several people died besides her father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a series of related but non-chronological snippets
> 
> tw: character death(s)
> 
> (day and cihro are fine, but f in the chat for thea and khuvith)

i.

Kishore has seen many terrible sights; her entire past is a tableau of the gruesome and the macabre, of bodies dashed against the unforgiving waves of fate, of illusory choices, of being reduced smaller and smaller with each hand she passes through.

She stands there, her father’s still-warm heart in her hand. His hand presses against the hemorrhaging gap in his ribs. Their eyes lock. He has no face–they’ve erased that, too. But she recognizes his eyes–hers are the same shape and the same color, darker than the darkest brown. There’s a similar spark of awareness in his eyes, too, so different from the hatred that burned behind the mask.

With his final breath, he says her name.

The gods are not listening, and yet there’s a shred of grace here: He dies as himself, as Khuvith Maallinen, and he _knows_ her. There’s always been part of him, though small and withered, that’s never stopped knowing her.

Tiamat may try, but she cannot take everything.

\--

ii.

The White Fang’s spell fills the room with a sound that could be a word, but there are too many shrieking dragons in the syllables. A wave of energy expands outwards, rushes through her like a transient spirit, and leaves without any true effect.

Her gaze shifts and she watches Dayereth collapse. Cihro’s prone form goes still. Death looks the same when it seizes upon a body. No matter race, or age, or skill–or even if they are someone she loves–death looks the same.

There’s a yawning feeling in her chest, an involuntary expansion, pressure, that threatens to crack her rib cage open from the inside out. She wants to scream, wants to roar her denial loud enough to undo all of this.

There’s no point. Any power she holds is the antithesis to what is needed right now. A clenched fist cannot sow life from scorched earth.

Relief washes over her when Gwen brings Day back up; he’s on his feet, hobbling towards Cihro, a diamond in his hand, ready to right what is wrong. There’s a breathless moment, the magic swells, then dissipates and dissolves. Nothing happens. Day shatters.

Her hands are still covered in her father’s lifeblood when she dashes across the chamber. They fumble, still slick, when she grabs at Cihro’s hand, but it’s only a faint awareness, the grim image she paints.

She prays for the first time in her life, promises things she never thought she could. Willingly, openly, she sends her thoughts to the heavens, pleading for something she cannot do by herself.

Elspeth once said that the Platinum Dragon’s presence felt like embers in her chest. Like the warmth of a kindling flame. Like sunlight. Like love.

Cihro doesn’t move. Kishore feels nothing except _cold_.

It was too much to expect to be heard. 

\--

iii.

Somehow, Kishore is able to find a degree of calm. Her inconsolable heart is soothed by the soft sounds of Day and Cihro breathing. Elspeth helps, too, curled against her back, like a shell or a shield.

She trusts Talsin to keep watch even if there’s no danger here.

Kishore’s fingers clutch the hem of Day’s tunic, and that small bit of grounding is enough to let her sleep.

-

Venu stands in the threshold and looks into the drawing room. Inside, Kishore, Elspeth, Cihro, and Dayereth are asleep. Talsin is awake, and his gaze meets hers from across the room. He looks exhausted–they all do, in different ways.

Ameya wanted to be here, but Venu had Emery and Meera take her for the night. Kishore would’ve objected, but she needs this time to be with these strangers she’s come to love.

Elspeth, too. Out of everyone who escaped those damned mines, Elspeth comes the closest to knowing what Kishore knows, and feeling what she feels. It’s a blessing that Kishore isn’t alone, and a curse that someone as young as Elspeth has seen dark corners of the world.

Venu isn’t wearing the traditional mourning colors yet, even though her grief is loud and leaves her weak. She wants to be happy that everyone who left came home, but by the gods, she cannot remember what happiness feels like right now.

Her focus turns to Cihro, alive and safe. His head is tucked under Talsin’s chin. She swallows back her bitterness. She doesn’t need to speak at all, and any wisdom she could impart is already known.

Still, she says to Talsin, “Sageweaver, do everything in your power to keep him with you. Don’t make the mistake of letting him walk where you can’t follow.”

Instead of waiting for a response, her mouth twists into a facsimile of a smile, and she steps back from the doorway. Unsteady feet bring her to her room. She won’t be sleeping tonight.

\--

iv.

Kishore climbs onto Palebloom’s roof. The nights are colder now–but nowhere near as cold as the Frostweald. In truth, she doesn’t need the blanket she keeps tucked under the eaves. She wraps it around her shoulders anyway. A simple comfort, one she’s allowed to have, somehow.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her reason for hiding up here.

The sending stone in her palm is as heavy as the weight in her gut.

“Thea, I don’t know if you can hear or answer me. Despite everything, I owe you more than I can express. I’m grateful. Thank you.”

The stone is inert. It’s a pointless exercise, but she had to try. Thea is either dead or worse. Either way, the person Kishore speaks to is no longer there.

-

Elspeth grips her holy symbol hard enough to hurt.

“Mom? It’s Elspeth. Kishore is safe. I read your letter, and I understand–” Her voice cracks, but she keeps going. “I love you. Emery and Kishore love you, too.”

She sniffles and strains her ears, as if expecting to hear a voice outside her head. That’s not how this spell works, but she’s hit with the sudden image of her mother emerging from the shadows in the corner of her room, safe and whole and–

Elspeth listens for a reply.

The silence is profound.

She curls inwards and presses her face against her knees. Her her lungs hitch. Tears dampen the fabric of her skirt. 

\--

v.

Krusk moves towards them, shouting Dayereth out of his tearful stupor and into action. Day mops at the damp streaks on his face and unsteadily stands. Krusk makes to take Cihro’s body.

Kishore is a vessel of grief and fury.

She leaps to her feet and uses her body as a barricade between Cihro and Krusk. “No,” she snarls through gritted teeth. “Do not touch him.”

Krusk backs off, unfazed, and Kishore feels like an animal who’s been tricked into letting her guard down. He doesn’t try to approach again, but she watches him from the corner of her eye.

When she first began warming up to Cihro, she didn’t expect to care about him as much as she does. On paper, they look like two people who could never become friends. Cihro is personable, cheeky, and casual in his interactions with others. Kishore is reserved to the point of aloofness, rarely smiles, and still doesn’t quite know how to address other people.

Their differences make them stronger together, and compliment their most important similarities.

What matters–and what she doesn’t quite understand–is that Cihro saw something in her, something worthwhile. He put in the time and effort, slowly drawing her out of the shadows. She wouldn’t understand what friendship is if he hadn’t taken that first step.

She kneels again and gingerly gathers Cihro into her arms. It’s not the first time she’s carried him, though he’s usually on her back like a knapsack; being physically affectionate is just how they are. It’s one of the few comforts she’s had since leaving Westruun.

It doesn’t bring any comfort now. His head falls limp against her shoulder. She can’t breathe right; her lungs crumple in on themselves, seizing. She leans her cheek to the crown of his head for half a moment, then straightens and tightens her hold on him.

This is all so _wrong_. She was only meant to lose one person today.

\--

vi.

Rahul is in the basement, sitting at his workbench. He isn’t doing anything, forearms resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely in front on him.

“Hey, Kishore,” he says before she reaches the bottom step. He looks over his shoulder at her; his eyes are puffy and red.

“Rahul.”

He swallows thickly. “I, uh, I finished the ring for Cihro.” One of his listless hands gestures to a small, wooden box at the corner of his workspace. The box itself is made of darker wood, polished and gleaming.

“I knew you would,” she says, and pulls up a stool to sit beside him. “That was never in doubt.”

“Can you give it to him for me?”

“I can, yes, but don’t you want to do that yourself?”

Rahul seems conflicted, and he shrugs. “I-I don’t know. I don’t want to bother him?”

Kishore reaches out and takes one of his hands into her own. After a moment of hesitation, Rahul lets himself lean into her.

“You’re not a bother, Rahul. He’ll be more than happy to see your work. He wouldn’t have commissioned you otherwise.”

He nods. “Okay. I’ll do it, then.”

“Good. Now, I have a question for you,” Kishore says, trying to keep her voice from carrying beyond the small circle of quiet that surrounds them. No one is listening in from the stairs, but she’s spoken loudly, and forcefully, a great deal in the last day or so. 

“Yeah? What is it?” Rahul wonders.

“The ritual that brought Cihro back needs more than just the one priest,” she explains. “We had to call to him, to try and pull him back. From what I understand, that call is strengthened when more than just words are used. I gave him the necklace you made for me. The one with the jasper pendant.”

“I remember it,” Rahul murmurs.

“I didn’t know what else I had with me to represent family,” she continues, voice wobbling, but still strong. “If you’d rather I keep the necklace, I will ask for it to be returned. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, and I wouldn’t want to hurt you with my actions.”

Rahul mulls over her words, and his hand squeezes hers. “I didn’t completely understand what you meant when you asked Meera to put the family blessing on the stuff she made for Cihro and Day. I knew you liked them, and that they’re your friends,” he shrugs again, “but I didn’t know how important they are to you, I guess.

“If… If Cihro is important to you like how you are important to me, then he should have the necklace. If it really did help save his life, it doesn’t matter who has it, right? You said it represents family; any us could have it and that meaning would still be there.”

Kishore blinks rapidly, and has to take a deep breath before speaking again. “But are you upset that I gave it up?”

Rahul shakes his head. He smiles, just a little bit. “I know you meant for me to keep that jasper, but I gave it back to you anyway. It makes sense for it to go where it’s needed.”

Kishore kisses the top of his head, and rests her cheek there. Rahul sighs and soaks up her affection. There’s a moment or two of quiet.

“Was Mom right? About us looking like Dad,” Rahul asks, almost a whisper. “I don’t remember what he looks like anymore.”

Kishore pulls back to see his face. She won’t give him the entire truth; she’s spared everyone from knowing what the cult did to him. No one needs to know, so she tells Rahul the best and easiest truth.

“She was right, yes. Our eyes and our markings are from him.”

Rahul nods tearfully, and wraps his arms around Kishore. She hugs him tight in return.

\--

vii.

“This is bullshit,” Emery states, voice gone flat with anger. Tears stand in his eyes, unshed but glinting in the light. “She doesn’t get to do this.” He stabs an accusatory finger at the letter on the dining table. “She doesn’t get to spin fucking lies to try and earn us back, even in death.”

Elspeth doesn’t immediately respond. Trembling hands take the letter, refold it, and place it back in its envelope. She holds it close and stares Emery down. “What do you want from her?”

“There’s no justice in this. Death is too easy. She should answer for her crimes,” Emery says, and he doesn’t sound like himself. He sounds like someone who’s heard the same thing over and over and can’t do anything except repeat it. Like one of those exotic parrots from the jungle, speaking without truly understanding.

Elspeth bites at her bottom lip. She holds back the urge to raise her voice.

Emery continues, “How dare she tell us what to do, after everything she’s done?”

“She’s our mother,” Elspeth manages. “She loved us, and now she’s dead. Wanting something better for us–”

“You don’t believe that, do you? You don’t really think she cared and was just biding her time, taking shots at the cult, before she was going to leave?”

Elspeth’s hands tighten around the envelope, crinkling the paper. Her voice takes on a sharp, steely edge. “Yes, I do believe that. I’m capable of belief, Emery. I’m capable of understanding that she wasn’t a good person, but that didn’t cheapen her love for us.”

Emery looks at her like he doesn’t know who she is. His expression crumples into distaste, and he brushes past her, storming out. She follows him back to his room, and watches from the hallway as he starts shoving things into a bag.

“You’re leaving?” Elspeth asks, and it feels more like a statement than a question. “Where?”

“I have a bunk at the barracks,” he mutters.

“What about Gabe?”

Emery doesn’t reply, just keeps grabbing things from the desk and the dresser to pack away.

“You’re allowed to be mad at her. I’m mad at her, too,” Elspeth says. “Our mother made more mistakes than we could ever know. She hurt a lot of people; we were never part of that. She never hurt us, only tried to keep us safe.

“You can yell all you want about justice and fairness, but you know that neither of those exist in the cult. Westruun’s arbitrary laws don’t matter to Tiamat. Mom didn’t have to protect us, but she did. And now she’s dead. Your yelling won’t change a _single damn thing_.”

Surprise flashes across his face when she curses.

Well, if that gets his attention, then she knows exactly what she’s going to say next: “Go ahead, Em. Run away. We’ll still be here when you get your head out of your fucking ass.”

Elspeth spins on her heel and stalks away, her mother’s letter still clutched to her chest.

\--

viii.

Before Elspeth leaves, Kishore gives her the ring that was on the hand Arkhan threw into the teleportation circle.

Elspeth holds the simple, silver band in her palm. She stares at it, her expression stricken. She draws in a deep, shaking breath and tilts her head to the side, spotting the small inscription inside the ring.

She says something in elvish, then repeats it in common. “My dusk lily.”

Her eyes turn to Kishore, imploring for answers Kishore doesn’t have.

“I don’t think she told me any more than she told you,” Kishore says. “Whoever hurt her, whoever she lost–I don’t know.”

Elspeth nods, sniffles, and slips the ring onto the index finger of her right hand. Her fingers close into a loose fist.

“She shouldn’t have kept it to herself,” Elspeth says. “She shouldn’t have carried everything on her own. Hypocrite.”

Kishore exhales, almost a sigh. “It’s hard to put pain into words. It takes practice. It takes time. I don’t think she ever felt safe enough to try.”

“I know, but it still makes me angry. How can she want us to be better when she never tried herself?”

“She believed she was beyond redemption, and she believed that so much that all she had left was you and Emery. Everything she did, she did because she wanted you both to live free.”

Elspeth squeezes her eyes shut; tears scatter down her cheeks, over skin and scale.

Kishore dabs at the wet spots on Elspeth’s face with the corner of her cloak.

Elspeth swallows, then asks, “Was she? Was she really beyond redemption?”

“I don’t know enough about redemption to answer that.”

“Have you forgiven her?”

“I have, yes.”

Elspeth clears her throat. “Me, too. That’s more important than redemption, isn’t it? That the people you love most can forgive you? And still love you?”

Words catch in Kishore’s throat and mouth, heavy with longing and doubt. “Maybe. I hope so.”

It’s a good enough answer for Elspeth, who nods and wraps her arms around Kishore in a tight hug. Kishore hugs back, and feels an overwhelming sorrow mixed with pride.

Pride at the person Elspeth is becoming, and sorrow that Thea isn’t here to watch her grow.

\--

ix.

Kishore doesn’t tell Elspeth about Thea’s remains–the hand and the ear. If things were different, if Elspeth wasn’t leaving so soon, she would know.

After saying goodbye to Elspeth and handing the mask over to Meraxes, Kishore goes to Bahamut’s Rest. There, she cremates what little she has of Thea. It won’t help anything except assuage a small part of her grief.

The ashes and bone shards fit easily into a small brass urn. Kishore cradles it against her chest, like both the remains her her heart are fragile, apt to breaking. She handles the urn with a gentleness that the cult tried to take from her.

Like Thane, Kishore knows that Thea’s soul isn’t her own. It hasn’t been for a long time, but now it’s more literal than ever before. If she’s alive, she’s no more herself than Khuvith was under the influence of the mask. If she’s dead, truly dead, then her soul is trapped somewhere Kishore cannot reach.

It’s a piercing sort of comfort, thinking that maybe both Storm and Thea are in the same place. Perhaps they are not allies, and never will be, but at least they are not alone.

\--

x.

Em,

I’m being called away from the city for a bit to help with something important. I probably won’t be back until after New Dawn, maybe even Hillsgold. I’m not sure.

Before you work yourself into a frothing rage or dramatic tizzy or whatever it is you do these days, this isn’t about you. I’m not going because of you.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad at you, but that anger doesn’t rule my actions. It doesn’t make me abandon the people who love me. I’m leaving because it’s the right thing to do. It’s bigger than me, and I want to help where I can.

If you want to know the details of where I’m going and why, that’s too bad. You could ask Kishore, but she’ll feel obligated to tell you. Don’t ask her. You don’t need to know. The fewer people who know, the safer it is for everyone.

I love you, Emery. You’re my brother. You’re the first person who ever understood me. For a long time you were all I really had, you know? Mom couldn’t really be ours because she was already hers.

Your job is important, I agree. Keeping the city safe and upholding fair and just laws is vital, I would never argue that, even if I could. But you’re twisting up duty and purpose like a ball of twine, getting all entangled in what you think you should be. I feel like you’re going in a direction that locks you out from everything else that matters.

I don’t want you to end up alone.

Elspeth

P.S. I left your Winter’s Crest gift on your bed. If you want it, you have to come home, you asshole.


	72. Comb (Rahul)

Rahul heaves a sigh once the last customer leaves. He locks the door and flips the sign, and turns to survey the shop. Though they were only open for pick-ups, he was on his own most of the morning. Juggling fretful customers while trying to finish up commissions isn’t his strong suit. It’s one or the other, usually. 

Rila’s better with people, but she didn’t arrive until a couple hours ago. She didn’t have to, but she did anyway, and brought him lunch. Rahul’s grateful beyond words. He’s also a tiny bit glad that Joseph decided not to show up today.

“Is it normally like that?” he asks. “On Winter’s Crest, I mean.”

Rila’s in the middle of balancing the till, but she pauses a moment to flash a commiserating smile. “Usually, yeah.”

“I can see why your dad stayed home.”

Rila snorts. “I told him to let us handle the shop. He didn’t like that, but I knew having him around would make things twice as stressful.”

“And he listened to you?”

“I bribed him with a pie.”

Rahul grins.

They finish closing everything up in companionable quiet. Before donning their coats, Rahul pulls a small, rectangular box out of a drawer in his workbench. Anxiety bubbles in his gut, and he tries to ignore the tremor in his hands. 

“I—” He clears his throat. “I have something for you. For Winter’s Crest.”

Rila’s eyes brighten, like sunlight on her face. “Really? You didn’t need to—”

“I wanted to.” He thrusts the gift in her direction, and feels thrice as clumsy as he normally is.

She pries open the box and inhales a soft gasp; the box is set aside as she admires the contents. 

It’s a five-toothed, golden hair comb with a fan of overlapping metal ginkgo leaves at the top. The leaves are coated in various shades of green enamel; a line of bevel set opals fill the space between the comb’s teeth and the leaves.

Rila looks up at Rahul, a quick and startled glance, then goes back to the gift. “Did you make this?”

Rahul shrugs. “It’s not much. I had the materials on hand already.”

“Will you—?” She mimics putting the comb in her hair, then holds it out to him.

Rahul can’t claim he’s never brushed someone’s hair. He’s helped his sisters and mother plenty of times with their hair. Even Elspeth corralled him into helping dye her hair once. Despite the fact that he can’t grow much beyond the glorified peach fuzz atop his own head–thanks to that distant elvish lineage–he knows enough to follow Rila’s request.

He reaches for the comb, but then hesitates. “Are you sure?”

Rila gives him a look, and doesn’t reply. 

It’s a silly question, and he knows it. The whole point of the comb is for her to wear it. He does his best to squash down his nerves, and begins running his fingers through her hair. 


	73. Connect (Kishore & Elspeth, with Hadrean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> couple of disjointed snippets i don’t feel like fitting into something more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this goes in the family tag bc there's more family here than not

When Elspeth tries asking about Hadrean, Kishore shuts her down with a gentle finality.

She checked in on him the day after the party returned to Westruun. He seemed dazed, uncomfortable, and slightly drunk–none of which particularly surprised her. What did catch her off-guard was his assumption that he would be asked to leave, that he was going to be effectively thrown out on the streets.

After assuring him that no such thing was going to happen, she wanted to know about the prison break, and why he was upset with Thea in the council chambers. He explained, and looked down at his hands as if they were still stained with Epiphany’s blood.

Any wisdom Kishore has to offer can’t help him yet.

He doesn’t blame her for Epiphany’s involvement. Part of Kishore wishes he did, if only to point his anger at someone other than himself.

She brought up what Thea told her, about him being a selkie, and asked what that meant. His eyes shuttered and he gave a flat refusal. Kishore doesn’t need to understand why he’s walled himself off in order to respect his boundaries.

“I already know too much without his permission,” Kishore explains to Elspeth. “If he decides to share more, then that’s his choice. We should honor that.”

Elspeth’s shoulders slump, and she bites at her bottom lip. Then, she nods. “Yeah, okay.”

“Thank you.”

She peers up at Kishore. “Do you like him?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re more protective than normal, which is a lot anyway. And you’ve only known him a few days, right?”

“I’m not in the habit of liking people I hardly know,” Kishore says. 

Elspeth rolls her eyes. “Everyone who’s ever met you knows that.”

“Maybe so. Still, in regards to Hadrean, it’s difficult for me to not see the similarities in our situations. He helped Bryn, and Bryn reached out in return. I only followed his lead.”

Elspeth seems satisfied with that response. “There’s a lot of hurt people in that house,” she murmurs. “In ours, too.”

“Yes.”

“I won’t pester or overstep,” she promises. “Sometimes it’s good to be distracted. Do you think he’d like a tour of the city?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask. If he says no, don’t be disappointed.”

She flashes a quiet smile. “I won’t.”

-

Later in the week, from her perch on the roof of Palebloom Hall, Kishore spots Elspeth and Hadrean walking towards the estate’s southern gates. There’s a spring in Elspeth’s step, and her hands gesture wildly as she chatters. Hadrean has his hands in his pockets, keeping pace with her.

He isn’t looking directly at her, but the tilt of his head shows that he’s listening.

—

There are voices coming from the drawing room; Kishore approaches and peeks her head through the entryway. Hadrean, Elspeth, and Ameya are at the small table nearest the window. The air smells faintly of nail lacquer.

Elspeth is leaning over one of Hadrean’s hands, spread flat on the table’s surface. She’s painting his nails a dark shade of blue.

Ameya is kneeling on a chair on Hadrean’s other side, leaning on her elbows. Her attention is split between talking and watching Elspeth’s steady hands. “Mom only lets me paint her toenails,” she says. “Neelam says it’s because I’m bad at nail polish.”

“You kinda are,” Elspeth says.

“I just need to practice more!” Ameya objects.

Kishore leans further into the room, arms folded, shoulder propped against the doorjamb. “It’s distracting,” she speaks up, “having my finger nails a different color than normal.”

Three pairs of eyes turn to her. 

Ameya squints. “That’s a weird reason, Mom.”

“Your mom’s a weird person,” Elspeth states.

Hadrean makes a noise that can only be a snort of laughter.

Elspeth looks very pleased with herself, and shoots Kishore a smirk.

“You’re not wrong,” Kishore admits. Her focus turns to Hadrean. “Are they holding you here?”

“Nah.” He waves a hand. “They even let me pick the color.”

Kishore lifts a single eyebrow. “How gracious.”

“Damn right,” Elspeth mutters.

Ameya gasps, all high dramatics. “Mom, Elspeth swore!”

“I heard.” Kishore sighs. “Elspeth, please.”

She shrugs. “Bahamut said it’s okay.”

Hadrean brings his free hand to his face, covering his mouth and ducking his head. 

“Just because the Platinum Dragon says you can swear, doesn’t mean you should around my daughter. She already has too many questionable influences.”

Ameya grins, wide and cheeky.

Hadrean’s shoulders shake once, twice, but he keeps his laughter to himself.

“He says you can swear, too, Kishore.”

Kishore shakes her head. “He’s never said anything like that to me.”

“I guess I’m his favorite, then.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I’m hungry, Mom,” Ameya groans. “I’m gonna die soon if I don’t eat.”

Kishore inclines her head. “I’ll make lunch. Hadrean, feel free to stay, if you like.”

He blinks at her. “Oh. Sure. T-Thank you.”

Kishore nods and slips out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i don't think kishore realizes she wants to make friends with hadrean but subconsciously that's 100% what's going on
> 
> super trying not to be meta about it??? if i didn't know who/what hadrean is, i still feel like kishore's changed enough in the last few arcs that she'd be open to making connections. she understands the importance of friendship bc of cihro and day, and like with caius, she definitely sees herself in hadrean's situation, even though she doesn't have the full picture.
> 
> bahamut: you have an endless well of compassion  
> kishore: that's some bullshit  
> narrator voice: the only true bullshit here is kishore's belief that she doesn't have a deeply caring, warm and compassionate heart
> 
> oh, wanted to mention: elspeth doesn't have a crush on hadrean but she definitely thinks he's nice to look at (she's determined to only have crushes on people her own age now, esp since the last two were like... an old guy who's basically married, and a dude who's sharing his soul with a demon prince)


	74. Wax (Elspeth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (elspeth is technically sir not-appearing-in-this-post, but it’s abt her)

Arden arrives at the temple just as the sun crests over the city’s walls. Bahamut’s Rest, inlaid with silver and alabaster, borrows the sunlight and brightens the entire temple district. 

Inside, the nave is just beginning to brighten; colored light from the stained glass windows puts the candlelight to shame. Arden begins to extinguish the candles that burned through the night. Once the wax cools, she collects the candle followers in a small basket for cleaning.

Gilana joins her, having worked from the opposite end of the nave. They exchange soft greetings. 

“Elspeth is late,” Arden comments.

Gilana is quiet a moment. “She’s left the city.”

“Left?”

“The Platinum Dragon has called her elsewhere.”

“What do you mean? Is she coming back?”

Gilana flashes an amused look. “Gods willing, yes.”

A trill of fear flows like ice down Arden’s spine. “Do you know where she’s gone? When did she leave? Is this like— Is this like Emon?”

“She left last night, and even if I knew where, I couldn’t tell you. Whether or not this mission of hers is anything like what she did in Emon, we will pray for her regardless.”

Arden wasn’t really friends with Elspeth before and during the war with Emon, but she knew her well enough to notice how Elspeth changed after her trip. The scar on her hairline was the most obvious, but the Elspeth who returned was a quieter person than the one who left. That quiet was so loud, especially in Bahamut’s halls. 

In the last few months, Elspeth’s regained some of her previous brightness, but there’s a shroud of hard-earned maturity over it.

“You just let her go?” she wonders, staring hard at the side of Gilana’s head.

“I am her teacher, not her keeper or her guardian. She said it was important. I trust in her judgement.”

Arden slumps down onto a nearby pew and cradles her basket against her chest. The fear quivering through her settles into something akin to dread, heavy in her gut. With forced optimism, Arden says, “She’s very brave.”

Gilana nods. “Bahamut chooses his his servants well.”

Arden doesn’t doubt the Platinum Dragon, and she doesn’t doubt Elspeth. Still, she closes her eyes and prays.

_O Lord of the North Wind, First of Dragons, justice-seeking and honorable, please watch over her. Bring her back home safely–not for me, but for her own sake, and for everyone else who loves her._

She opens her eyes and squares her shoulders. Gilana has a knowing look on her face, which is annoying. Arden stands and brushes at her skirts one-handed, and returns to her duties.


	75. Parley (Emery, Neelam & Meera)

The moons are dark. Muted starlight shifts through gaps in the clouds. Soon enough, that meager light will drown in the impending dawn. Emery’s boots crunch along snow-dusted streets. He navigates the city with solitude as a guide–he avoids the Shield patrol routes and shopfronts that keep long hours.

Not sleeping when the rest of the world sleeps is a unique kind of loneliness, even if his aloneness is partially manufactured. He sleeps sometimes, indulgently, but hasn’t for a few months now.

It’s impossible to pass completely unseen in the center of Westruun, unless he takes the time to sneak down alleyways or climb up onto the roofs. There are guards at the gates throughout the city, including the gates to the Brambleview grounds. The guards recognize him, and nod in acknowledgement.

No one tries to stop or speak to him. Palebloom Hall looms at the far end of the estate; a handful of windows are illuminated from within. It’s strange–usually the house is dark after midnight.

–

He takes a deep breath before opening the door. Elspeth’s letter is a crinkled mess; it sits like a reminder in the breast pocket of his coat. Knowing she isn’t here makes the house feel less like a home than it ever has. It’s not really fair to put the blame on her, is it? Not when the problem is probably him.

His bedroom door is closed. Overhead, floorboards creak as someone moves from one room to another. Meera and Neelam are in the kitchen, sharing a pot of herbal tea. A warm, clean, lemon scent fills the room, overriding the traces of whatever they had for dinner.

Emery stands in the hall, not able to take that last step into the kitchen proper.

Neelam notices him first, sharp-eyed as always; she stares hard at him over Meera’s shoulder. Meera follows her gaze and her confusion dissolves into unveiled annoyance. She stands and folds her arms over her chest.

“Kishore isn’t back yet, is she?” Emery wonders, voice cracking on the second-to-last syllable.

Meera shakes her head.

He wants to step back, to quail beneath her disapproval, but he doesn’t move. “Have you heard from Elspeth at all?”

“Rahul got a message from her last week,” Neelam says, clipped. “She said she’s safe.”

Emery nods.

Silence settles over the room, like a cat slinking through a battlefield, ginger-footed, afraid.

Neelam has no reverence for silence, delicate or otherwise, and she kicks out one of the empty chairs. She points at it, then gets to her feet and clatters around in search for another cup. What follows is the most irritated tea-pouring Emery’s ever witnessed.

Neelam places the cup with firm intention, all but slamming it down, and says, “Sit.” She returns to her spot, this time with her foot pulled up onto the seat, knee against her chest.

In the last month or so, Emery somehow forgot how intimidating the Maallinen women can be. He follows the instruction. Meera doesn’t sit again until he does.

The cup warms his hands. “I’m sorry.”

Meera scoffs. “Alright. Sure.”

“I am,” he insists.

Neelam says, “The only person who’s going to be nice to you right now is Rahul.”

“You just poured me tea.”

Neelam glares. “Fuck you.”

Emery can’t help the way his eyebrows jump; Neelam is sarcastic and sharpish, but she doesn’t curse all that often. Even during archery practice, she’s either completely quiet, or utters a simple “crap” when her aim is off.

Emery sips the tea. Meera and Neelam side-eye him. Judgement from Meera is normal, but Neelam’s unrelenting eye-contact is unsettling.

“Why now? Why come back now?” Meera asks.

There’s no ready answer. He could say a dozen different things, and none of them would be accurate. For months now, there’s been a growing gulf between him and his family. It doesn’t make sense–not much does these days–but he’s gotten it into his head that autonomy and solitude are synonymous. 

Any burden or hard choice or difficult situation–he was supposed to deal with that alone, right? That’s what freedom is, isn’t it? Being in control of himself? 

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That much is obvious.”

Emery scowls. “Why ask if you don’t give a shit about my answer?”

“Why are you here if you don’t give a shit about us?” Neelam retorts.

“That’s not true. Or fair. I want to apologize.” He swallows against the lump in his throat. “I want to come home.”

Meera’s expression doesn’t change much, but something softens in the set of her shoulders, and her hands loosen their grip around her cup. “It’s not like we packed up your stuff and changed the locks.”

“I knew that wouldn’t happen.”

Neelam stands abruptly. “My tea is cold. I’m going to bed now,” she states.

Meera reaches out and squeezes her hand as she passes.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Emery says once Neelam’s gone. “I know that doesn’t mean shit right now.”

“Do you understand why we’re mad and hurt?” Meera asks. “Don’t think you can just show up and expect everything to go back to normal.”

And that’s the worst part about this whole situation, isn’t it? He said and did things that he can’t take back. He dug himself into a mess. It’d be easier to keep digging, to willfully ignore his actions, rather than try to climb out of the hole. Is he strong enough for that? It remains to be seen, but maybe all he needs is a little help.

Emery takes out Elspeth’s letter and passes it to Meera.

“My little sister grew up when I wasn’t looking. I was too focused on what I thought was important. And I don’t even know what is important, except her and you and everyone else here.”

Meera reads the letter, then gives it back to him. She says, “You should know that your Winter’s Crest gift is Elspeth’s wanted post from Emon, framed and matted.”

Emery laughs, even though he kind of wants to cry. 

Meera pries the cup from his hands and brings the dishes to the sink. “Neelam had the right idea. It’s late. Before you say anything, I don’t care that elves don’t sleep, you look like you need it. At least try to rest, okay?” Her hands are on her hips. Her tone brooks no argument.

Emery nods. “I’ll try.” She might not believe him, but he means it.


	76. End (Emery/Gabriel)

Gabriel braces himself for the rush of pain he expects when Emery walks into the tavern. He continues to brace himself, even as Emery goes to the bar to order a drink, and then slides into the booth across from him.

The pain doesn’t come. 

There’s a low, dull ache, yes. It lives in the same spot where broken glass once pierced him. What he feels now isn’t anything like the sharpness he felt when Emery pulled himself out of Gabriel’s life, since they went on a “break.” What he feels now is muted and distantly melancholy.

“You look good. Happy, I mean,” Gabriel comments.

It’s the truth. Emery carries himself with more confidence than Gabriel’s ever seen. Before, it seemed like he was being held up by props—be it his bow or his Shield armor or his past—but he seems steadier now. More himself.

Emery half-laughs and takes a long sip of wine. “I’m trying to be.”

“Elspeth said you were in Emon?”

He narrows his eyes. “Do you two talk about me a lot?”

Gabriel shakes his head. “No. I’ve barely seen her since… you left the Shields. We bumped into each other on accident, and I asked how you were.”

“Sorry. I assumed— ”

“I’d be mad, too, if I thought people were gossiping about me behind my back.”

“I should know better that to think that of either of you.”

It’s true, but Gabriel doesn’t need to voice his agreement.

Em heaves a sigh and his shoulders slump. “I didn’t invite you out just to chat. Or make accusations.”

“I figured.”

“I should’ve had this conversation with you before now. But I needed to get away, and being in Emon was really good. I learned some things about myself, and it was nice to clear my head. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, because I haven’t been fair. To you.”

“Fair how?”

“Keeping you waiting, in this weird place of… are we still together or aren’t we?”

Gabriel doesn’t have an easy answer.

“You’ve been more than patient with me. I don’t wanna say ‘you deserve better than me’ since it’s not that simple. You deserve better than the situation I bring with me,” Emery explains. “You deserve better than being kept in relationship limbo. ”

“So, are you ending it?”

Emery sets his drink aside. He stares at the lattice of his fingers, folded together, and then he meets Gabriel’s gaze. “I think I have to.”

Gabriel ducks his head and nods a few times. Ah, there’s the pain. Not as bad as he imagined, but pain is pain. He knew this conversation was coming, he just wasn’t sure when. 

Even as it hurts, there’s a weird sensation of relief, release. It’s the best thing they can do right now. Emery needs time on his own, and Gabriel shouldn’t be tied to someone who isn’t ready. They aren’t right for each other right now, and maybe they never were.

Besides, how many people really end up with their first love?

Outside the tavern, before they go their separate directions, Gabriel takes Em’s hand. His skin is warm, despite the winter chill. He squeezes it once.

“I still love you. I think I always will, even just a little bit,” Gabriel admits.

He brings Emery’s hand to his lips, and kisses his knuckles before letting go.


	77. Thursday (Emery)

It’s a rare day that everyone–nearly everyone–is home for the midday meal. Even on the weekends, there’s usually someone out of the house. Today, however, is one of those days where the entire herd eats lunch together. 

Palebloom Hall is much larger than their house in the Sunset Ward, but when everyone–nearly everyone–is home and crammed into the kitchen and dining room, it feels similar to how things were when they first came to Westruun. 

The energy is different now, of course. Calmer, steadier. So much has changed in the last two years. Emery, for instance, feels like his sense of self has flipped multiple times. It hasn’t quite settled yet, honestly.

Internal changes don’t even account for the new additions to the herd.

Under Venu’s gentle guidance, that’s what they’ve become in the last year: A herd. Their small community is motley to say the least–made up of the Maallinen-Briars, Gwen, Bryn and his people, Hadrean, Westruun natives like Rila and Sanctuary, and folks from the manor–Ada, Ragnar, and Anya. 

An outside observer might look at Palebloom right now and not believe that anyone is missing. They’d be wrong, of course.

Emery leaves the kitchen, two mugs in hand, easily navigating through throngs of people under Meera’s direction. In the hallway, he dodges Ameya and Ragnar, who are tearing towards gods know where.

“No running!” he calls after them. It’s pointless, but he tries anyway.

Elspeth is in the dining room, sitting in one of the window seats. Despite the fact that it’s nearly lunchtime, she looks half asleep. She stares into the middle distance, hair mussed. Emery hands her a mug.

Elspeth doesn’t respond much to the gift of tea, just nods once in slow recognition of his presence. He sits across from her.

“Did you sleep at all?” Em wonders, hiding a smile behind his mug. If her answer is ‘no’ he has the rare chance to get on her case.

Elspeth blinks and instead of responding, she goes on high alert. There’s no other descriptor for it–her slumped posture goes ram rod straight, eyes wide and bright, sleepiness washed away in a flash. It’s almost as if she’s been electrocuted.

She looks out the window, and Emery follows her line of sight. There’s nothing out there to see, but she notices more than he does.

“Make sure Aritian does the talking,” Elspeth says, apropos of nothing.

Emery frowns. He turns back to Elspeth. “What?” 

She’s beaming. In a near-reverent whisper, she says, “Kishore is back.” She leaps to her feet, and address the room. Louder, “Kishore is back!”

The low din around the table falls into a hush. All eyes are on Elspeth; Ameya slides into the room, almost falling over before catching herself on Venu’s chair.

“They’re outside the city,” Elspeth says. “Kishore just answered a sending.”

Half a breath, a heartbeat or two. Then, the quiet breaks, overtaken by a wave of voices. Emery winces at the cacophony, but can’t help the smile on his face.

“Is she safe? Unhurt?” Venu’s question cuts through the excitement.

Elspeth nods. “She sounds okay.”

Ameya darts towards the front door, shrieking the whole way. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

Venu laughs, both in amusement and relief. She rises and says, “Well, you heard the girl.”


	78. Shear (Kishore & Meera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meera hasn't had a haircut in over a year and she is suffering, ok

Instead of getting to relax after dinner or help with clean-up, Meera storms towards Kishore and grabs her hand.

“I need a haircut. Now.” She pulls Kishore out of the dining room.

Kishore allows herself to be led. “Right now?

“Yes, right now.”

“How short?”

Meera’s hair is almost shoulder-length. She has it tied back in a ponytail; the stray locks that aren’t long enough to fit are tucked into place with bobby pins. The last time Kishore saw Meera with long hair, it was when they first came to Westruun.

Meera tugs on the end of her ponytail, irritated. “My normal short. This is impractical.” She brings them to the drawing room and sits in one of the low-backed wooden chairs by the fireplace.

“You weren’t growing it out?”

“I was waiting for you to come back. I don’t care if you do a bad job right now, I just need it gone. You can fix it when there’s better light.” She begins plucking out the hair tie and bobby pins, stowing them in the pocket of her skirt.

Kishore checks one of the cabinets in the room; all her haircutting implements are still there, untouched. A set of scissors, straight razors, towels. “The lighting won’t be a problem.”

“What, did you develop night vision while you were gone?”

There’s a chandelier in the room. It’s wooden, circular, and can house a handful of candles. It hangs low enough to threaten the head of any goliath passing by, except the table placed beneath it keeps everyone safe. Instead of lighting the candles, Kishore taps into her font of divine power and turns the chandelier itself into a source of light.

The room is brighter now than it would be with just mere candlelight.

“I can see in darkness depending on the situation, but sometimes creating light is easier.”

Meera stares at Kishore, critical but not mad. “How long have you been able to do that?”

“Since Bahamut.” Kishore gathers her supplies and lays them out on the end table near Meera’s elbow.

“Elspeth would yammer on about that,” Meera notes. “She was so sure you were all coming back, safe and sound, especially since you’re ‘one of his.’”

“Elspeth’s faith is stronger than most.” Kishore drapes a towel around Meera’s shoulders to catch any stray hairs, and begins shearing away over a year’s worth of hair growth. “And I am not his. We have an arrangement. I’ve pledged myself into his service, but he knows better than to claim me.”

Meera snorts, derisive. “Try telling that to Elspeth. I love her, of course I do, but she’s maddening sometimes. When Hope went missing, she told everyone he was with you in the Feywild. I didn’t believe her.”

“I would’ve doubted her, too.”

“Glad to know some religious people can be reasonable.”

Kishore isn’t sure how to feel about being called ‘religious’ but the corner of her mouth tilts into a smile. “I do my best.”


	79. Dawn (Kishore & Venu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was Venu on The Pavillion with A Flute

Kishore wakes to the soft melody of a flute. The sound is muted, coming from downstairs, outside, but she can’t see anyone from her balcony window.

She investigates, tugged from the warmth of her bed like a creature charmed into following. Impulsively, Kishore grabs the oaken flute Day gave her for Winter’s Crest.

No one else is awake; the sun is just beginning to rise. 

Venu sits cross-legged on a cushion at the far corner of the pavilion, an area perfect for observing the gardens. She’s playing Kishore’s old flute, eyes closed, face calm. There’s certainty to her breaths and steadiness in her spine. It reminds Kishore that, yes, the world continued to move while she was gone. Her mother is stronger than she was a year ago.

The song is familiar, an old goliath folk tune. Venu hummed to her as a child, when their keepers couldn’t hear. It’s not exactly the same song, but a variant that seems to welcome in the dawn. Carefully, Kishore kneels beside her mother, and between one breath and the next, joins her.

Sitting as close as their instruments allow, they play together, improvising a duet as the sun crests over the city’s walls. Light topples over cold stone and bare trees, and lands on them with a soothing warmth.


	80. Awkward (Elspeth)

Three days after her talk with Cihro, Elspeth gathers her strength and goes to the temple early. She marches right up to Arden, who’s in the middle of lighting the lamps, and says, “I need to talk with you.”

Arden looks a bit startled. She glances over her shoulder, like she expects Keeper Simar to scold her. Her eyes narrow on a spot just beyond Elspeth’s ear, looking at her without looking. “What about?”

Elspeth’s heart quails, but she rallies. “I need to ask you something. In private?”

Arden’s lips thin and she shuffles her feet, but nods. Elspeth leads her into one of the prayer rooms that line the main cathedral hall. The single lattice window casts pale, crosshatched light over four narrow pews in the center area. A colorful tapestry depicting the Platinum Dragon hangs on the front wall.

Elspeth closes the door and perches on one of the pews. Arden circles around her, not sitting. She drifts towards the tapestry; she studies it closely, as if she’s never seen it before. It’s all a farce, since they hung it up together, giggling madly when the first few attempts were terribly lopsided.

“Things have been weird, between us,” Elspeth blurts. She clasps her hands together tight, to keep from fidgeting. “I’d like for them to not be weird?”

Arden stays focused on the tapestry. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Elspeth scoffs. “Talk about what? That I asked you on a-a date? That’s—”

“I already said no.”

“I’m not asking you again. I’m asking for us to be okay.” In an effort to keep from bursting out of her skin, she stands and stalks over to the window. Outside, the temple district is active, even as the rest of the city stirs itself awake.

Gods, why does she feel everything so much, all the time? Everyone else makes it look easy—getting up and going about their days. Not feeling crushed under their own unrequited feelings.

Elspeth grips the windowsill, tips of her fingers going pale against the white marble. “Can we be friends? Like before, I thought we were—”

“We were.”

“I’m sorry I ruined it. Us being friends, I mean. If you don’t want to be anymore, I understand. I just need to know where you stand. On that,” she finishes lamely.

There’s a long pause. “You’re a really cool person, Elspeth,” Arden finally tells her. “That Bahamut favors you is so obvious to everyone. But I can’t force my feelings.”

Elspeth turns and half-sits on the windowsill. Her palms press into the stonework beneath her, seeking some sort of stability. “You shouldn’t try to force anything. If you, or anyone, ever likes me like that, I want it to be because I’m me, not because of Bahamut.”

The defensive tension in Arden’s shoulders loosens. “That’s why I said no. It’s not fair to either of us.”

“I’ve had crushes on people before. I’ve gotten over them.” Caius is still a sore point, but for entirely different reasons. “I won’t always feel this way about you, especially since you said no.”

Arden is quiet.

Elspeth forges ahead. “Bahamut’s Rest is like a second home to me. It hasn’t felt that way since I ruined everything, and I really want to feel comfortable here again.”

“Nothing was ruined. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

Arden doesn’t argue. She faces the tapestry again and traces fingers over the S-like arch of Bahamut’s neck and spine. “The holidays weren’t the best time, not with how busy everything is, and my family—” She looks back at Elspeth with a pained expression. She spends so much time in the temple because her family is so chaotic, and not in a good way like Elspeth’s family is.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It hurts telling you no, especially since I do care about you, as a friend.”

Through the sting of rejection and the weepy feeling of embarrassment, Arden’s statement warms Elspeth. Hope kindles from the ashes of an awkward death. “Can we try going back to that? Maybe not immediately, but working towards it. Just knowing that’s possible would be really nice.”

The corners of Arden’s mouth curl into a near-smile. “It would be nice. We can try.”

—

The next time Cihro comes over for dinner, Elspeth tells him, “Things are better at the temple. With me and my friend. We talked.”

He claps her on the shoulder and nods in approval.


	81. Huntress (Kishore, Neelam, Venu & Emery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishore learns that her most babiest sister has a job

“Bye!” Neelam calls, to no one in particular, while passing through the parlor on her way to the door. 

She sports simple leather armor and has a bow slung over her shoulder. A quiver of arrows is strapped to her waist, near the small of her back. Instead of wearing her hair loose, curls falling wherever they please, she has everything tied back in a high ponytail. 

Her dark brindled mastiff, Kolam, follows at her heels. His ears are perked forward, and his rear end wiggles with the force of his wagging tail.

“Give Koravai my regards,” Venu says. “Stay safe.”

“Good hunting,” Emery adds.

“Yeah, thanks, bye.” The door opens and slams shut.

“Where—?” Kishore wonders, trying to quell her concern.

Venu explains, “She’s part of an orcish hunting party. They help feed the orcs that live in the city now.”

“How long has she been hunting?”

Venu thinks before answering. “Almost a year now.”

Emery adds, “She started soon after Gwen went back to that druid grove in the north.”

“It started as something of a distraction, but it’s become very important to her.”

“She enjoys it, then?” Kishore asks, not because she doesn’t know the answer, but because she needs that answer confirmed. Relearning her own family leaves her feeling flat-footed.

Emery barks a laugh. “Oh, yeah. But she’d never admit it.”

At least some things haven’t changed. Kishore half-smiles. “Of course not.”

“I’ve joined her party a couple times, just as a scout, and the whole thing suits her well. Her orcish is a lot better than mine, too,” Emery says, smile gone rueful.

Venu says, “She’s always been a fast learner.”

Emery nods in agreement.


End file.
